Sins of the Fathers: The Tender Trap III
by SleepingSeeker
Summary: The struggle is only beginning for LeoxKarai. Their love will face the greatest test of all. Fathers will be brought to their knees, questioning all they've ever known. Lovers will cling to one another against the storm of trials, a girl will be rescued and a boy will find love in the most accidental place, when he least expected it. T for violence, light sexual content & cursing.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I'll start this with two simple words, but important ones: _thank you._ Thank you to all my readers and fans and supporters for your kind and gentle encouragement, aggressive cajoling and ultimately dire threats to continue this story. ^.^ This is for you, my patient friends. For all of you who believe that love really can conquer all, you fearless romantics.

It started out as a little tale about a boy and a girl and all the obstacles that came to stand between their tender, fragile love. Because of you, it grew into a sweeping narrative about acceptance, defiance, endurance and triumph over all that fate can attempt to mangle in our search for some small amount of happiness. Nominated for 5 awards in the 2013 Stealthystories Fanfiction Awards - for Best Drama, Best Romance, Best Tragedy/Angst, Best Villain, and my personal favorite: Best Leonardo; for all of this, again, I thank you.

The struggle is only beginning for these two. Ahead, their love and bond will face the greatest test of all. Fathers will be brought to their knees, questioning all they've ever known. Lovers will cling to one another against the storm of trials, a girl will be rescued and a boy will find love in the most accidental place, when he least expected it. It will not be a smooth ride, there will be pain and there will be tears shed. There will be loss and forgiveness, but ultimately, as always, there will be hope.

All this and more I hope to deliver to you, and stew in my fear that I will not live up to my own expectations in giving you what you deserve. But I'll do my best and I will try.

Let's begin.

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**Sins of the Fathers: The Tender Trap – Part 3**

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_'And this was the price you paid for sleeping together. This was the end of the trap. This was what people got for loving each other.'_ -A Farewell to Arms, Ernest Hemingway

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**Chapter 1 - Paradise Fleeting**

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The diminishing fire crackled and whispered, hissing out the moisture from the last few twigs, still partially green, that he'd added to the waning blaze. The heat had dissipated some, but for the most part, the chill of the cave was kept from them. The shadows created from the tiny flames danced in long twining arcs along the jagged walls, across the flat plane of the ground and up over them where they lay; painting their bodies in twisting threads of light and darkness. Shining up at him were her eyes, luminous and wild, emerald and full of hunger. He drowned in her gaze. His fingertip trailed along her temple, down the incline of her jaw to her chin; stopping to run the pad of his thumb over her pouting bottom lip. Without missing a beat, she took his wrist in her hand and opened her mouth. She bit at the tip of his thumb with enough force to show she meant it, as if he couldn't see the need in her eyes, burning brighter than the fire just behind their backs in the cave.

His features softened even as the glint of his own need in his eyes sharpened. He locked his gaze with hers and felt himself teeter on the precipice. Allowing himself the foolish thought of imagining how it would feel to shirk that confining husk of his fears and succumb to her sensual tempting. It had been so long. He felt the ridges of her bottom teeth rippling over the pad of his thumb as she turned her head slightly from side to side. Felt the tightening between his legs, the heat blossoming through his midsection. The hazy feel of falling against his will into her arms. He froze. He shook his head to clear it.

"Karai," he said and swept his eyes away lest he give in to the aggressive pleading now replacing the sultry look from before. He panted and collected himself. He felt her teeth release his thumb, and thinking the moment had passed, he relaxed and made to move his hand away. But before he could, her tongue slid over the side of his thick digit and his breath caught as she brought her lips over it and sucked hard.

He jumped and gasped. He pulled his hand away with some resistance and she fell back onto the pile of soft grasses and leaves he'd gathered for her to rest upon. She heaved a dramatic sigh and brought her arm up over her eyes. With her free hand she chopped the air.

"Gah! Come _on_. How can you do this to me?" she whined to the ceiling. Her voice took on the familiar aggravated tone, "It's been weeks, Leo. Weeks. Are you trying to kill me?"

His heart pinched and his loins throbbed thanks to the last hour of them spending it by exchanging kisses, soft and gentle, then heated and deep at turns. Her taking his thumb into her mouth like that and sucking on it did not help matters. She was driving him crazy. But he shouldn't have allowed himself the indulgence of kissing her so much tonight. It was a dangerous game that no one emerged as the winner. It's just that, as she said, it had been so very long. He ran his hand over his face and grunted.

"I know, trust me. I _really_ know."

He sat up and draped his elbows over his bent knees and blew out a strained breath. He glanced down at her rounded belly where his impossible child grew. He wanted her. Badly. But he just couldn't risk anything that may hurt his unborn baby or her. Something as selfish as sex was out of the question. No matter how badly he needed to be inside her, he would not put her or his child in danger. He swallowed dryly.

After four months of being apart, from her, from his family, from everything he knew and cared about, of living in the monotonous misery of day-to-day survival in this jungle, counting down the days until his time of exile and punishment had been served and he could go home again to his brothers, seeing Karai appear there from the darkness of the jungle, illuminated by moonlight on the edge of the sea, he'd thought he'd lost his mind. He was sure of it.

He'd been missing her terribly and had resigned himself to the sad truth that he could never see her again, even once he'd returned. It had to be over between them. He was warned by her father, the Shredder, that to pursue her in any way would force his hand to do the unspeakable. Even the Shredder himself had urged Leonardo to either join his ranks or forsake any feelings he had for Karai, for good. He did not want to be forced to kill his only child. So, even as he ran down to meet her on the beach, still unsure of whether or not she was some fever dream brought on by malnourishment or simply that he'd cracked at long last from the stress, he debated whether or not he should even make any contact with her. But like the moth driven into the fiery ecstasy of the flame's deadly embrace, he could not avoid the fate he was driven to. Falling into her arms, feeling her kisses, wet with tears of joy for their reunion, proved that he was still sane; a small comfort in the swirling madness that made up his existence.

Then just as he was reassured that fate was not as cruel as he'd thought, he'd felt her stomach, full and firm with child and his heart stopped. He realized then why she had found him. It made perfect sense. In that moment of discovering she was destined to become a mother, he imagined that she'd come to tell him, in person, that she had found someone else, out of some twisted adherence to honor, perhaps just to bring closure, with all its finality, for what they'd shared and ultimately, inevitably, lost together. Karai had come to show him proof of their love's demise.

He was ready to accept it, how could he not? Ready to accept that her apparent pregnancy was by a human, who he, in that instant of terror and grief, imagined as a profoundly wealthy and amazingly skilled rival; one considered to be of great masculine grace and beauty. The ideal man. Human, to start with. He could envision nothing less for his sensual and ferocious tigress. He would want nothing less for her. She deserved happiness and freedom. She deserved love from one of her own kind. Someone that could cherish her in public.

What else could he have believed in that instance of crushing dread? Never in his wildest dreams had he ever considered even for a second that it was possible to become a father. He was a freak, an accident. A mistake in the evolutionary progression of reptile-kind. He was an in-between, not one or the other. Truly an aberration. And why would he ever imagine that he or his brothers would be so blessed as to be able to reproduce? He had already tested fate's mercy by falling in love with someone so beyond his reach that the entire world dismissed it as unacceptable, implausible, and revolting. And the price for that had been his torture, torment and near death. A price he would pay over and over again to experience half of what he had with Karai.

But testing fate and being a thorn in its immortal side seemed to be the very reason he came to exist in the first place. For she emphatically explained that the child was his. Only his. Belonging to him. His DNA. His corrupted seed had found fertile pasture within the mysterious depths of her female form. Doubts and fears aside, he believed her. Her eyes did not lie to him. The madness of their love affair was apparently only just beginning.

Leonardo realized that before he could lose track of her again, he had to take hold of the situation. He had to act before anything else complicated matters. She had to belong to him. Only him. He couldn't lose her, not now. Not after this. He couldn't imagine life without her, now especially that she'd told him that she wanted his child. She wanted it! His child! He could barely come to wrap his mind around that staggering truth. In fact, he couldn't. So, he instead focused on his future with the love of his life. He vowed to protect her, to love her, to only belong to her if only she would agree to allow him to do so. And miraculously, she agreed. His soul never felt as light as it did in that singular moment when she said yes. A joy that surpassed any previous fleeting glimpses of happiness filled him, every inch, every cell.

The night she'd found him on that beach, little over a month ago, was nothing less than an event of sublime divine manipulation to Leonardo. For the first time in his life, he believed in the possibility of heaven. For he was standing at the very epicenter of that transcendental bliss. The night she'd agreed to spend the rest of her life belonging to only him, he'd brought her to the hidden pool he'd discovered soon after he found the cave that he'd turned into his den. In the cool night air, laying upon the spongy moss, they'd made love. For the first time as husband and wife.

She had pledged her life to him, only him, it was impossible, this dream becoming reality. But it was true. It was true. As she lay in his arms, it was true; as he kissed the hollow of her throat, it was true; as her clothes fell away, it was true; as she murmured her promises of a love never-ending, it was true; as two became one flesh, it was true. It was all true. The tender lovemaking they shared was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. Infinite euphoria. Rapture. Elation. They became one, husband and wife, lovers, friends, enemies no more, giving and exchanging, taking and accepting, merging in body and soul, heart and mind, next to that sparkling pool beneath a star-filled sky to the chorus of a million insects, birds and other, hidden animals. He gave her all of himself, promising more, pouring his soul into her, and vowing to love her forever and ever and ever as she murmured his name like a prayer on her gleaming lips. Lips that he kissed over and over, drinking in the sound of his name repeated there. Exultation. Nirvana.

He yearned to feel that paradise again. Longed for her touch. Burned for her body. But Leonardo remembered with stark grim vividness how the next morning he'd seen the streak of crimson upon her thigh, wiped away with trembling white palm. How he'd caught the look of pain on her face as she rose, clutching at her stomach, despite hiding it immediately and masking her discomfort as soon as she caught him looking. When he questioned her, she remained elusive and secretive about how she was feeling.

_I'm fine. I said I'm fine,_ she'd repeated to him with more of her usual spunk and fire returning_. Fine. Absolutely fine. Will you BACK OFF._

He didn't ask her again. Worry set in. Unease turned to fear and took root. Leonardo met and became closely associated with an icy terror of the likes he had never felt before. Constant and debilitating, these fears that doubled and tripled in their ferocity with their sharp, stinging barbs of helplessness; suffocating him with all the possibilities of death that may strike his beloved and unborn child at any moment and he'd not have the ability to protect them.

How could he battle biology? There was so much that could go wrong. And the longer he considered the state his beloved was in, the more frightful and concerned he became. The more certain he was that her womb was a ticking bomb waiting to unleash the horrors of mismatched, deforming, tainted DNA. He had poisoned her. He had polluted her with his tainted seed. And even if the fetus was viable, he was sure that the mysterious baby growing within his lover's uterus would never survive birth. What had he done? What had his selfish acts produced against the very person he would die for? Depression and despair dogged the ending of every day, fear and worry came with every sunrise. He could not protect Karai against what he'd already done to her, he could not safeguard his child's arrival into this world. He was helpless to the whispered plotting of fate, so jealous, so spiteful, so critical of anything resembling happiness, contentment or joy.

Leonardo lived each day with a renewed edge of panic and terror that kept him furiously cornered. And a sense of guilt that he could not escape from, no matter how he tried through meditation and working himself to exhaustion, evolved and draped across his frightened heart with a sick resignation of the truth. All of this was his fault. He was the father. The architect of his own misery.

To keep from wallowing in his dread and remorse and sinking into a sulking mood that had Karai either smacking him upside the head or tickling him in an uncharacteristic bout of playfulness, he did his best to be a good husband to his new wife. To hide the fears that he wrestled with on a daily basis. The last thing he wanted was for her to guess at what haunted the corners of his psyche and assume responsibility that was not hers to take on. He would not give her any further stress than what her body was currently enduring with this abnormal pregnancy. He feigned complacency and did his best to avoid confrontation with her. Though with her natural fierce temperament and hormones driving her from being soft spoken and gentle one moment to wild and vicious the next, it took all his concentration to remain calm and soothing, stoic and seemingly at peace.

He gathered materials to make her stay more comfortable. He collected the softest grasses that he'd swap out every afternoon as they grew brittle and hard despite the dampness of the cave. He surrounded the place where she slept with wild flowers, scented with heady fragrance, exotic and lovely, though not as enticing as her own honeyed cherry-blossom scent that he craved. He stored twigs and branches to keep the fire at a cozy level to chase away the chill that sometimes descended in the night. He kept a close eye out for any threatening looking bug or spider that may be poisonous lurking in his lover's space. He fished in the crystalline pool, the one they had spent lost in their love-making the first night of her arrival, bringing to the cave fresh fish that he'd scale and prepare for her; adding the more delectable wild fruits and roots he'd learned to savor.

But all the while his mind would cycle back to the source of the fears he was running from as well as the deep pit of guilt at the center of his soul. This was his doing. All his fault. He impregnated his beloved and had placed her in this delicate situation. Without even realizing what he was doing at the time, so lost in his desire and passion, he had put Karai square in harm's way. And not only her, but this baby, this miracle of unfathomable design. This was his fault. Had he ever known this was a possibility, he would have been more careful. But he never thought . . . he never once considered . . . that a baby could be created by their union. His baby. By simply acting on his love, he had done the unforgiveable. If anything happened to her as a result of this pregnancy, he would never be able to forgive himself.

And for the first time in his twenty two years of life, Leonardo prayed. Hard and long in the empty black hours of the night, he prayed to any entity that might be listening to spare his wife and unborn child from these yet unseen, yet unrealized, brutal ends. He prayed for miracles to be heaped upon miracles. Healthy pregnancy, healthy mother, healthy baby. Knowing all along he had no right to ask for more. So, in his darkest moments of deepest despondency, he simply prayed that should the universe need to take someone from him, that he'd be considered and being found worthy, ultimately taken in their place.

Sex, therefore, was out of the question. Yet again he had to refuse her advances. No matter how unhappy Karai was with the situation, he could not risk such a selfish act. He would do nothing to jeopardize his new, precious family. He'd even tried other things to satisfy his wife's needs. And he consistently felt the sting of failure in his attempts. He was beyond inexperienced and between his fear of hurting her or the baby, he'd end up making Karai more flustered and irritated at him than before he'd started. It all came down to a matter of self-control. Something Leonardo was a practiced expert at. He only hoped that his wife would come to understand that he'd only rejected her because he loved her so desperately and was so worried that he would end up doing more harm than good in expressing his love to her physically.

"I'm sorry, Karai. I . . . I just . . . Please try to understand."

"I know. You've told me a million times. But Leo, you don't have to worry," she said in a persuasive tone and rolled to one side and gave him an appraising look.

He turned his dark eyes, filled with sadness, in her direction. His face was a mask of worry and absolute misery. Her heart pitched and all her earlier anger and frustration at him fled. How could she stay mad at him when he looked so sorrowful? She knew that Leonardo tended to worry even in the best of circumstances and she did her best to acknowledge and appreciate the fears that he had over hurting her or the baby. But really, he was blowing things out of proportion. As he was prone to do.

"I'm sorry."

Karai nodded in understanding. She heaved an aggravated sigh. No sex for her tonight. Again. Even as she considered her husband's woe, and felt pity for him, she found her eyes trailing along the fine lines of his muscular body, the dips and valleys of the curves highlighted by the dancing dying flames behind her, and her desire burned brightly. She had to restrain herself from tackling him. That hadn't gone well the last time she'd tried. They ended up in an argument that had ended in her screaming how much she hated him, which then led to an entire day of her tracking him down to the cliff he loved to sit and sulk upon so that she could spend the next two hours convincing him that she was just hormonal and that she did, in fact, love him with every ounce of her soul. He remained with that hang-dog expression on his face for the next few days. Leaving her wanting to beat the crap out of him had she not been struggling with having to use the bathroom every few minutes and deal with the cramping that would come on and grip her only to vanish as though nothing had happened at all. Being pregnant, overall, sucked.

This sexual urgency she was coping with was a real problem, however. Her need for him was a constant yearning. It drove her mad. It kept her from sleeping and her husband was such a light sleeper that she found masturbation to be a frustrating game of listening to the rhythm of his breathing between groping awkwardly around her enormous belly only to freeze as he fell still, knowing he was awake, listening to her breathing for any sound of distress. It was enough to make someone commit a murder. It was simply ridiculous to go through such a humiliating ordeal. It was pointless when she had a perfectly healthy male who also happened to be her husband right at arm's reach but who continued to leave her unsatisfied and incinerating from the inside out because he was _worried_.

It infuriated her to no end, this fear of his over hurting her or the baby. She had read everything she could about pregnancy before leaving on her search for him. And though a lot of it probably didn't apply to her unique situation, she absorbed as much as she could. Karai, therefore, knew that her hormones were in high gear, this being her second trimester of pregnancy and they were playing havoc with her emotions as well as her sexual appetite. If this pregnancy followed the general rules of human gestation periods, then she had to be nearing her seventh month. And her desires were like the cravings that she wouldn't reveal to him, lest he do something foolish and go off to the villages in search of pickles again or as in one case, pork rinds, which nearly led to his discovery. Which led to another explosive argument. And another prolonged period of sulking and apologies.

With a sigh she said, "I just wish you'd relax about this. Really, Leo, I'm fine."

He gave her a long look that said he definitely could not relax about this and he seriously doubted that she was fine.

She trailed one hand across the side of her bulging abdomen. She couldn't wait to get out of this stinking, humid jungle. With the recent bouts of painful cramps, she was sure it was going to be sooner rather than later. And as soon as her time came, Dr. Tsuneo was to come and fetch her. Something she hadn't discussed with her husband just yet. He had seemed so off since that first night, Karai figured that bringing up the Foot clan and her remaining ties to it wouldn't be a good idea. She was sure he'd understand that she hadn't expected to deliver their baby in the primordial mud of this rain forest with him as her acting doctor. No way. Not that she didn't think Leonardo could handle it. It was just that too many things could go wrong. Tsuneo was someone she could trust. And besides that, arrangements had been made for her concealment, safety and recovery in comfort. More and more she longed for that private suite that awaited her just outside of Costa Rica where she could bond with her husband and child and have a hot bath or a glass of wine whenever she wanted.

She'd gone to Dr. Tsuneo soon after learning of the delicate situation she found herself in, after the denial had worn off and the stark reality of it set in. Ever practical, Karai knew she couldn't hide this forever and would need outside help. She had chosen wisely in going to him. He'd been on her side without question or reprimand; giving her vitamins and care until she headed off to find Leonardo; telling her doctor that she needed to get in contact with the father of her child. He'd asked no questions, but seemed to understand that the father was not someone Karai wanted her father to know about. If he knew it was Leonardo, he never let on, but something told Karai that he assumed as much. He promised her secrecy and dedicated himself to her and her baby's care. He sent her off with a care package full of vitamins and general medicine safe to use during pregnancy as well as a cell phone to use when it became necessary for him to extract her from her destination. She had called him twice in the past month when the cramping was to a point of agonized fright but the pain had eased enough where she told him not to come yet. False alarm. But perhaps soon.

Knowing that he would swoop in when she needed him gave her a sense of calm that she knew she wouldn't have had if she was facing this situation under different circumstances. She trusted the man with her and her baby's life. She had known Tsuneo since she was a baby and she knew that he hadn't spoken a word of her location or her condition to her father, as he promised. Tsuneo was a good man. She wouldn't know what she'd have done without his help. She probably would have been as much of a nervous wreck as her poor darling sitting next to her. If telling him that there was help coming would ease his mind, Karai would have explained, but she knew that Leonardo would only fret and worry more. If that was even possible.

She reached out and ran her fingertips along his thigh. Trailing along the ridges of the scars her father had given him with a whip a few years ago. He watched her finger glide over the raised flesh with a morose expression. How many times had she had to convince him that she still found him beautiful? Despite what he was, despite the scars. Again, her heart pinched and she was overcome with the need to make him happy.

"Don't look like that," she said and sat up with some effort and a soft groan. He reached out to help her and she took his hands and placed them on either side of him. She pressed her fingers to his chest and gave him a little shove until he sat back onto his bottom with a puff of air.

"Karai," he pleaded.

She shook her head and brought her index finger to her lips to shush him. His eyes widened as she crept closer and ran her hands up and down his chest, feeling the hammering of his heart, the heat of his body seeping through the thicker plastron covering the front of him. He trembled and she bit the corner of her bottom lip. Oh, god, how she missed feeling him shaking in her arms! But just as she thought she had him, his face took on a stern expression. He grabbed her wrists.

"Stop. Don't make me repeat myself. I won't do anything that might hurt you or the baby."

She glared at him and his expression turned to one of deep hurt. His grip on her eased but he kept her hands firmly from any further exploration of his aching, thirsting body.

Her temper flared to life and she had to bite her tongue. The acidic, cruel pile of words worked their way up from the dark recesses of her mind. She knew she could press here and make him even more miserable. She could torment him by telling him how keeping her away from what she wanted was only going to end up making her look elsewhere. Though, in truth, there was nothing but miles of jungle between them and the nearest eligible bachelor, not that she'd really do that to him. Never. She had committed herself to him and would remain his, and only his, forever. Oroku Karai understood loyalty and commitment. No one could accuse her of anything but complete devotion. And though they hadn't had an official ceremony to confirm their mutual commitment, Karai saw herself as his wife and he, her husband. End of story.

But the side of her that stung with irritation and aggravation stubbornly suggested that that didn't mean she couldn't throw it in his face every now and then that she had options. That he didn't own her. She was no one's slave. That he needed to take good care of her, lest he lose her. But the temper and ferocious cruelty of her youth was curbed by her experiences with the young mutant as well as her age and current predicament. She didn't want to fight with him. She didn't want to hurt him or be cruel. Not really. Truth be told she was just horny and tired. It was that simple. All this yearning and burning was making her frustrated and more than that, exhausted.

"Please Karai, let's just . . . let's just go to sleep."

She closed her eyes and thought of something. A smirk worked its way across her mouth.

"Look, I don't want to fight with you, not tonight. Things will get better after . . . I promise. I will make this all up to you." He frowned as his eyes took in her expression, noticing the smirk. "Whatever you're thinking, forget it," he said flatly. Then he sighed and it was a heavy sound.

Her smirk vanished and a very convincing innocent look replaced it. "I don't want to fight, either. In fact, I don't want you to do anything but sit back and relax."

He narrowed his eyes, clearly not having confidence in her assurances. She filed it away in the back of her mind to get back at him for having such a distrustful nature when she was asking for his compliance. But for now, she wanted to play.

"Trust me. That beast –" she pointed south, between his legs, "is not coming anywhere near this holy house of incubation," she finished by indicating her enormous belly.

"Karai," he warned with a hint of pleading, but released her wrists.

Her hands dropped to his thighs and she spread them apart. "Don't tell me you don't want me, Leo-kun."

He fidgeted then met her eyes with a smoldering look, the look that she was hoping to receive. "Karai-chan, every day, every hour, every second, I want you. The flower and trees want not the rain and sun as I want you."

He went on, but Karai wasn't listening. She sometimes tuned him out when he went off on some of his flowery language. She appreciated the sentiment, but overall she found poetry boring. She longed for action, not words. Bold deeds not gentle rhymes. Give her the squalling wind over the gentle pattering of rain. Give her the fiery lightning over the impotent rumbling of thunder. But it was good that he was dropping into his more poetic phrasing. All was going to plan. Her fingers kneaded the bulge between his legs until with a gasp of delight, she eased him from his confinement and his rigid flesh bore proof of his pretty words, his murmuring ceased immediately. His breath hitched and his eyes bounced between hers.

"Karai, I-I said no," he said, voice full of a helpless distress that only further stoked her desire.

"Shh," she purred and gripped him tightly around the base as she lowered her face, bringing her mouth down to meet his sex. The last thing Leo expected her to do. His mind blanked as her lips enveloped him.

"Ha-_Ah!"_ The sensation was too great. The primal need to thrust overrode sensibility. He grabbed the back of her head as his hips bucked. He was about to climax, it had been too long; this was too intense, he couldn't stop himself but luckily, she shrugged out of his grip.

Karai choked and then shook her head and surfaced, wiping her bottom lip. Shooting him a scathing glare, she held up one finger and poked the end of his snout, making him blink. "Since this is the first time we're doing this, I'm going to let that slide. But _don't_ do that again," she warned, poking him again. "If you want me to continue, and not break your wrists, keep your hands off my head, is that perfectly clear?"

Eyes wide he nodded and promptly sat on his hands, not trusting himself to be able to withhold from doing that again; feeling his face burn with a mix of shame, embarrassment and desire.

Satisfied, she smiled and as she slid back down, she murmured, "Let's try this again."

Leo threw his head back as Karai worked her wicked magic on his quivering body, eventually making him snarl and bellow out loud, throaty, hoarse cries of surrender and pleasure. The primal sounds erupted and echoed up out of the cave into the surrounding forest. The wild sound of sweet abandon and unadulterated lust laced with awestruck love.

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**A/N:** So it begins.

I need to finish I, Alone and A Son for a Daughter, both only having a few chapters between them before their respective finales, before going much further with this. I need this to have my full attention - well, this and Lost in the Gloaming, which I have not nor will I abandon. That is a story that must be told and in some sad ways parallel some of the incidences in Tender Trap. An alternate future, perhaps. An alternate universe to this one.

But I digress. I wanted to post this first chapter and get this monster started. You've waited so long . . . I hope you enjoy the ride.

xo


	2. Someone to Watch Over Me

_"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's okay to shine?"_ –Lana Del Rey_, Bel Air_

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**Chapter 2: Someone to Watch Over Me**

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The stinging was distracting. Not as much as the way his boots skidded along the slick pavement, wet and shimmering between shadows and the yellow glare of the street lamps beyond. Each time he lost his footing another electric bolt of pain seared his mid-section; pulsing out from the wound at his side; making his breath hitch and hiss across his grimacing lips. One hand clamped against his left side, Raphael pumped his legs as fast as he could. The armor plating of his suit clanged and squeaked as he moved, making him wince for all the clatter he was making in his retreat.

Throngs of people milled about out in the street and the sidewalk; talking in loud voices, throwing up gang signs and shouting at the working girls on the corner. If they noticed the racket he made, no one seemed too interested. But still. The last thing he needed right now was another confrontation. Not to mention, he wasn't exactly being stealthy. He kept to the alleys and the narrow gang ways; out of sight; breath coming in short bursts from between gritted teeth. He rolled his gloved hand back and didn't need any further illumination to know that his palm was covered in crimson. He balled his shaking hand into a fist. Pressed it hard into the wound and grimaced. Yeah, they got him good, this time.

_Stupid. Fuckin' stupid._

Now he couldn't go home. Not with a bullet wound. He'd never hear the end of it. Don had been cooler with him since the last blow up over his disappearances into the night. Freezing him out. At least when it was Leo giving him a hard time, they'd blow up and it'd be over. They'd even laugh about it sometimes on a late night run. Teasing each other about what was said, neither really taking it personally, not really. That's the way it was before, at least. Before this whole situation with Karai came along to turn everything upside down and effectively ruin their lives.

He sighed through his nose. Nah, he couldn't just blame Karai, as much as he wanted to. It was Leo's fault, too. He didn't have to leave. He didn't have to prove nothing. He said he'd dedicate himself and that was that as far as he was concerned. But no, he didn't even try to convince Splinter. Didn't even try and reason with him. And Raphael knew, he just _knew_ that Splinter could have been brought around. If Leo had just tried. Their father was strict, sure, but he wasn't stupid. It had to have been a test and Leo blew it. Instead of showing their sensei that he could stand up for himself, he folded immediately. He just caved. Raph thought Leo was smarter than that, bolder. Braver. Thought after everything he'd gone through with Karai, that it would have made him stronger.

"Peh," he grunted disgustedly.

And now he was left with Don in charge, which was a nightmare. The guy didn't know what the hell he was doing. If he wasn't hedging around a subject that he needed to talk about, he was screaming at the top of his lungs like a nut. But usually, lately, he'd just been freezing him out. Because with Don, it was never over. He was passive aggressive and tended to shut down instead of drawing out the poison developing between them. As if he was already done dealing with him.

And that was fine with Raph. Just fuckin' fine. He was sick of Don. It was like the guy was taking it as some personal offense that he didn't want to sit around the lair and let the city go to hell while Leo was off pouting and Mikey acting like a fuckin' clown. Literally.

Since Master Splinter sent Leo off on his special vacation to get his head out of his ass, the Foot Clan and Venom had erupted into chaos. Violent battles between them were escalating and spilling outside of the shadows; more and more innocents were caught in the cross hairs. People were getting killed left and right and the mayor wasn't doing nothing but arresting petty criminals for drug possession or some other stupid crap. The police were understaffed and overwhelmed.

It wasn't right to sit back and pretend not to see the damage. Damage that was partially their fault. Fractions of Foot were showing up at crime scenes, only not bearing the Foot symbol any longer, new bands of ninja, new filth to add to the stew of criminals bubbling over in the city. The Shredder hadn't been seen in weeks. Raph never thought he'd think this, but without Shred-head around, the faction of the Foot Clan in New York was going bonkers.

He stumbled forward and had to catch his breath a moment, thinking things must be bad for him to wish the Shredder was here in his home turf. But the truth was, without order, without control, the world they knew and lived in, the world of shadows and security, the only one they had was burning. He didn't buy it that Don couldn't see what was right in front of his eyes. That he could not see that pretending everything would work out was putting their friends and their friends' families in danger every day that they did nothing. It wasn't fair. Not to the civilians who had done nothing to pay the price. To top it off, the Purple Dragons were descending like vultures to pick at the scraps.

He'd tried to reason with Don – saying that getting a job to pay for meds for Splinter wasn't the most important crisis at the moment. Which wasn't the kindest way to put the situation. It wasn't like he didn't care about their father, but . . . truth be told, he was scared. That's what he couldn't voice. Not in a million years. Not even to himself. Without Leo there to guide them, to tell them which way was up, it felt like they were adrift, without purpose or direction. Master Splinter was not getting better. Far from it. Every day that there was no letter from Leo made him shrink smaller somehow. April was doing her best to supply them with what she could on her salary, sure. But, dammit, everyone was missing the point. If April was killed, then Master Splinter was as good as dead, anyway. April was the only source of stability any of them had.

He had to do what Don was not. He had to protect her. To protect his family.

He ground he teeth as he jogged on, slowing with each step forward. The city was falling apart all around them, and Donnie wanted him home . . . to what? Answer phone calls about computer shit. Well, it wasn't going to happen. Not on his watch. That's why he came up with the name, Nightwatcher. _'Cuz someone had to be out here. Watchin' over things. Someone had to do somethin' to help_. _ To keep her safe._

He huffed and the alley tilted to one side making his steps falter. He slowed down for a moment and braced one hand on the side of a brick building. Then again, a lecture and cold shoulder from Donnie right now might not be so bad. As long as it came with some pain meds.

He turned his head and glanced at his reflection in a broken window. The Nightwatcher stared back at him. Was it his imagination, or did the reflection just move his head side to side in disgust? His vision blurred and doubled before it went straight again. He shook his head. _No. Can't punk out now._ _Just a little further._ He pushed off the wall; leaving a bloody three-fingered print and continued on in a wobbling jog towards where he'd hidden his ride. The heavy gear of his Nightwatcher disguise started to weigh his limbs down, making it feel like he was trotting through a swamp; his feet struggling to raise off the ground with each continued step.

Up ahead, nestled between a pair of large black dumpsters and several dented metal cans, was his bike. More of a supped-up dirt bike that he and Don had salvaged a while ago from the dump, Raph had spent three months alone in the garage fixing it up; repairing the engine and working out all the dents. He had to completely replace the braking system along with the chain and sprockets. He'd borrowed some money from Don and had Casey order him some of the parts he couldn't salvage. It was the only thing that had given him a modicum of peace since Leo had been shipped off to Central America for being a dumbass.

It had kept Master Splinter off his back and given himself some time to think. To consider the welding supplies, to learn how to use them correctly. To fuse plates into something like an armored disguise. Because the last thing he needed was for one of his brothers or April to recognize him and what he planned on doing.

He'd been done with lectures. With being told that Leo was coming home soon, to just sit back and wait for the returning hero while people were pulling shrapnel outta little kids' heads; the lucky ones. Every day that April walked home alone, or to their lair, bringing the supplies and meds that seemed to never quite be enough, putting her life at risk. Raph wasn't stupid. This escalating chaos had something to do with Shredder's disappearance and Karai hadn't been heard of either, now that he thought about it.

Spots danced around the edges of his sight and he blinked back the sweat burning his blood-shot eyes. _Okay, made it to the bike. Now what?_ He only had one choice. One destination. He gripped the handlebars and rolled it backwards, wincing beneath his helmet in pain. He threw his leg over the seat and pitched to one side before he righted himself. His head spun as he kicked it to life. The rumbling roar was like a lover's purr to his ears.

"Good girl," Raph murmured.

Now, he just had to hold on a little longer until he made it to Casey's place.

. . .

Casey dropped the bag of garbage into the can as the flash of a headlight came up the path. He jumped back as it illuminated a raccoon sitting to one side of the metal can. It's glittering eyes winked up at him, catching the light and glowing for a moment like a miniature demon.

"Ack! Get outta here," Casey said, stomping his feet to scare it off. The creature merely blinked up at him with beady eyes. Casey's shoulders slumped. He pointed his middle finger at it as he said, "You're lucky I don't have my hockey stick with me, bub. You'd make a nice puck." The sound of an approaching engine had him turning his head in time with the raccoon to see a motorcycle coming up the long, twisting path that lead into the private property.

He stood, hands on his hips and squinted out into the darkness. No one came up here. Well, almost no one. He smiled. Raphael. He hadn't seen his feisty friend in weeks. He'd been helping Raph out with his new side activities of being Nightwatcher when he'd been hurt and had to cool it a bit. He came out to his aunt's place in Putnam County when Raph had told him to lay low. It was where he'd come back to, to recover from the broken collar bone and bruised ribs he got from being kicked off a three story roof. He figured it was close enough to the city that he could keep in touch with his bud and do his own vigilante work while staying out of the path of Leo or any of Raph's brothers. He turned to look at the raccoon who blinked up at him, paws held in front of its chest.

"You better get outta here, my buddy's coming. And he's got a worse temper than-"

Before he could finish talking, the bike swerved sharply, spraying gravel in a wave in front of him. The handle bars jerked from side to side and the bike came at him, tilting over and skidding out. Casey fell back with a shout as the raccoon ran off with a skittering squeak. The bike rattled, the engine rumbled and Casey scrambled out of its path. He clambered up to his hands and knees, jumping to his feet, swearing. Raph tumbled in one direction while the bike shot in the other, coming to an abrupt halt after smashing through the garbage cans in an explosion of garbage, rubber and steel against the trunk of a large oak. The engine sputtered and died. The front wheel spun and spun.

"Holy shit!"

Casey ran over to where Raph lay in a heap. He patted the turtle's face as Raphael's eyelids fluttered. His helmet had flown off when he'd fallen from the seat.

"What the hell happened?"

"Nnnh . . . Got . . . shot."

That was when Casey's eyes traveled down to see that the side of his friend's body was glistening.

"Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Okay. Hang on, bud." Casey patted the top of Raph's head. The growl had Casey snapping his hand back. He leaned back on his heels. "Bon-_NIE_!" Casey hollered. He turned and gathered Raph up under the shoulders in a bundle of cursing, dented metal and dripping blood.

"I can stand on my own," Raph groused, fighting him all the way up but when his friend released him, Raph tipped to one side.

Casey steadied him. "Sure, you're just fine, ain't cha? Except, what the hell do you mean ya been shot?!" he shouted as his hand came away slick with blood. "Bonnie!?" he yelled.

A familiar blonde woman came rushing from the front of the cape cod-style home. She paused for a moment on the front porch lined with flower baskets, one arm hooked around the support.

"What's . . .?"

"Get the emergency kit," Casey said as he pulled Raph along. She spun and ran back inside, the front screen door banging in her wake.

"Bonnie?" Raph asked through gritted teeth, remembering the hooker from Leo's twenty first birthday party. If he wasn't in so much pain, he'd have been embarrassed for intruding on his friend's little private party.

Ignoring the question, he asked Raphael, "Why the hell didn't you get home? I'm an hour away from the city."

Raph narrowed his eyes and hissed through his teeth as his vision blurred and doubled only to clear again. "Couldn't . . . stand Don . . . bitchin' at me," he panted.

Casey huffed out a laugh in spite of the situation. "You stubborn ass," he muttered.

"Don't . . . make me . . . kick your, _ughk_ . . ." he stumbled up the two steps leading to the front door.

Inside, Casey started stripping Raph of his armor. The gloves, gauntlets and chest plate fell in a clattering heap as Bonnie came into the room with not only the first aid kit, but several towels, a large quilt thrown over her shoulder and a bottle of water. Raph groaned as he lowered himself onto the couch. Bonnie immediately wrapped the quilt around his shoulders and gave him a caress along his jaw ending with a pat on his cheek. He blinked and felt his cheeks heat but was quickly distracted by the burning pain as his wound was jabbed. Casey prodded his side as gently as he could. From the first aid kit that he'd personally put together, he removed a small flash light and held it in his mouth. He squinted and did his best not to cause his friend more pain than was necessary, but parted the injury with his fingers. Raph stiffened but made no sound. The bleeding was slowing, but still coming. Thick and dark. He pressed a thick wad of gauze and held it against the wound. He spat out the flashlight.

"_Tch_, they got you all-right. But it ain't too bad. Not as bad as I was afraid of. Looks like your armor slowed it down."

Bonnie twisted the cap of the water handed Raph the bottle. Mouth open, he could only exhale out a rough sound that was supposed to mean 'thank you'. Raph squirmed as Casey removed the bandage and prodded him more. He hissed in a breath.

"What the fuck?" he growled.

"I can see it. It . . . It's lodged in the side here, by your shell." He licked his lips and turned to Bonnie. "We're gonna need –"

She nodded rapidly and a smile directed at Raph had him blinking down into the water feeling like coming here was a bigger mistake than he ever guessed.

Two hours later he was dressed like a turkey, reclining on the sofa with his legs crossed at the ankles. He'd told Casey through the removal of the bullet and the stitching how he'd encountered a bunch of vultures picking over the remains of another slaughter. This time it was Venom's men sprawled throughout an alley. No sign of the Foot. But no doubt that it was them that dished out the killing. At some point Bonnie had slipped behind him and gave his neck and shoulders a massage as he was talking to Casey. He found her hands and fingers strong and nimble, working out some of the knots, but also extremely uncomfortable, feeling her curves and softness distantly through his carapace.

Casey sat in an armchair, one ankle propped up on the opposite knee, a bottle of beer cradled on his lap, as he listened to Raph recount how he'd gotten his injury. When finished, Casey shook his head.

"You gotta lay low for a while, man. Things are getting too hot. I told ya, I only needed a few more weeks . . . not even that, really, before I could get out there with you again."

"I don't need your help," Raph ground out and moved to escape Bonnie's ministrations, but her arms snaked around his chest and held him back; that and the pain that jabbed him. He slumped back with narrowed eyes.

"You don't need my help?" Casey asked and pointed with his middle finger at his chest. He scoffed and took a swig of beer. Then he stood up. "You need all the help you can get. And right now, I'm telling ya. This . . ." he pointed at Raph's side. "This was a warning. A sign."

It was Raph's turn to scoff. Casey wrinkled his brow. "Can ya at least wait a bit for me to get out there with ya again?" he pleaded. "You need someone watchin' your back."

Raph dropped his gaze and gave his friend a half-hearted shrug.

"Wonderful." Casey held up both his hands, palms out, clinging to the bottle with his thumb and forefinger. "I'll take that as a yes. Now. I'm goin' to bed. I've got a freakin' migraine from squinting through those stupid reading glasses."

Bonnie chuckled, her breath tickled the side of Raph's face. "I told you, you need glasses," she said in a sing-song tone.

Casey shook his head in denial and called over his shoulder from the hallway, "Not gonna happen. Vigilantes don't wear glasses. I'm Casey Jones, not Mr. Four-Eyes."

Raph sighed at his friend's stupidity.

"At least he wore his reading glasses when he operated on you," she purred into his ear and he didn't make out a word she said. Feeling only the heat of his body pooling in his lower abdomen. He shifted and did his best to eye Bonnie from his position.

"So, uh, you and Casey been, um, seeing each other?" he asked, trying and failing to sound casual.

She shrugged. "Not like that. He's my friend. He lets me stay with him when I'm ordered out here on the East Coast. I don't have any family and I get to pocket some of the travel money they send me out with. Casey's real respectful. He's a gentleman."

Raph frowned and couldn't help but huff out a chuckle at the description. He decided he didn't feel like arguing with the woman.

"If he didn't then I'd only get to keep my salary and that's not enough for what I need. I help with the other girls' stuff. Medical bills, clothes, other things. You know . . . girl stuff. I've been in it for the longest, at least, I'm one of the girls who's done it for over five years. The younger girls need help with managing their money. They have no idea what they're doing. Especially the exclusive ones, they are completely hopeless, poor things. They get a little freedom, end up spending everything they make in a night and then what? They get themselves into trouble with the boss. Always happens."

"Oh," Raph blushed furiously, reminded of what she did for a living. He had no idea what she was talking about and fidgeted uneasily. Wishing she'd be quiet. Or go to bed or just leave him with his misery and let him try to get some sleep.

"Thank god for Casey. He's a sweetheart," she went on. "He said he'd help me bust outta the life, but he don't understand." She grew quiet for a moment, falling into her memories of the girls that she'd come to know not only as co-workers, but more like family, sisters. "I couldn't leave without my friends. Yvette, Mona . . . oh, little Tahir . . . you'd love him. But . . . yeah," she shook her head again. "They're all stuck at the group home on the island. So, how would that even work?"

He considered this information, pausing to note, one was a male name and suppressed a shudder, thinking of what it would be like to be in her place. Wondering who'd want to purchase a boy. He gulped and searched his mind desperately for something to change the subject. He was tired and only managed, "So, uh, you're not freaked about . . ." he gestured to his body. He felt rather than saw her shake her head.

"No," she laughed out the word, as though he was being ridiculous.

"Why?"

"I've seen a lot weirder than you."

"I . . . find that hard to believe."

She giggled and began tracing some of the lines of his chest. "I've been around. Before Venom bought the company, I used to be stuck at home all the time. Here in the city. But then, they came in, got us settled in one location and I got to meet my new friends! They're all special, but lately, I've been shipped out everywhere, mainly to Indonesia and New Zealand -"

Raph started at something she said and interrupted her, "Wait . . . what did you just say?"

"I've been to Indonesia?"

"No, before that."

She thought back and shook her head. "I was saying that I've seen stranger and even worse. And I don't think you're that weird looking. Not at all! I like the way you look. I had fun with your brother that night." Raph froze, the initial warmth he was feeling at her come on instantly dissolved into something like dread. His interest in what she'd said a minute ago momentarily fled from his mind.

"He was so adorable." She sighed, "Mikey. I think about him sometimes."

He really didn't want to think about a hooker fantasizing about his baby brother. He flailed until she released him. He gritted his teeth and sat up, giving his head a shake to clear it. One hand propped against his aching side.

"No, no. You said something about . . . Venom."

She nodded enthusiastically. Bright blue eyes sparkling. God, she was an absolute doll. He gave himself another shake and refocused.

"You work for them?"

She thought for a moment, then nodded again. "M-hm."

Raph scrambled off the couch. Wincing he stepped back. "Casey! Get your damn ass out here right this fucking minute!" he hollered, holding his side and feeling more than a few stitches pop.

* * *

**A/N:** Did you catch it? DID YOU!? EE! I'm not saying anything. I wasn't gonna do it until later, but here's a little hint of what's to come.


	3. Entanglements

** Chapter 3 - Entanglements**

* * *

It was in the traffic, stalled and bored that the fears would creep in. Never one in particular, but several would assault him at once. Fears were sneaky that way. Waiting for his mind to be preoccupied with the jerking crawl and stop of the busy traffic. The house music thumping bass that his fingers paid more attention to than his ears. Because they were far away, like the rest of his mind. Under a jungle-thick sky, oppressive with humidity, smothering with dense foliage and vines.

His mind would slid between and under undulating like a python heavy with grogginess from the sultry air. The leaves would part, brushing along his neck and spine, leaving tendrils of moisture to drip and tickle him; until at last, a clearing would open up and he'd gasp or pause or simply stare. His brother would lay broken, covered in ants picking him to pieces. Bones poking up, white and stark against the overwhelming green, would burn his eyes. And Mikey would hurry through the underbrush, tripping and gagging and screaming like blowing bubbles in a dream, until he'd fall on Leo's chest to find him alive, barely. The relief would be chased away by the blank look given, the frown of unrecognition and Mikey would keep asking him if he was okay – if he knew him. Insisting he did, he had to. That he was Mikey, Leo's little brother. The fun one. The cute one! Remember? Remember!? Until a blaring horn told him it was his turn to roll fourteen inches ahead; palms damp on the steering wheel, pulse racing in time with the pop music.

Would they know if Leo got hurt? How? What if he got sick? Leo was all alone out there. What if he hit his head and lost his memories of home? Of them? How would they know? How? Why did Master Splinter do this to them? What was their father thinking?

Then frantically Mikey would count back to the date when he last received a letter and the knowledge would only serve to add more fears to his ever growing pile. Because Leo said he'd write every day and it had been what? Like six weeks since the last one came in? More? He frowned. Fingers going still. Leg stiff, foot pressing on the brake.

What if Leo was caught sneaking into town to mail those letters? Would the people there just kill him as if he were a monster creeping out from the jungle, or would they arrest him like a regular person? Neither option was good. Mikey had stayed up late to watch a documentary on prisons in other countries two nights ago. The dungeons serving as cells made the sewers look like a five star hotel. He swallowed dryly. Those were for people. What about a mutant?

He glanced to the left to see a billboard featuring a woman wearing a leopard-print fur coat. '_You deserve it'_ ran the caption under her. Mikey felt a cold wash flood through him. What if Leo was shot by poachers mistaking him for a panther or something!? The image of his brother's shell on a collector's wall had him sitting rigidly forward, grinding his teeth as the panic attack seized him.

These attacks usually came on in the middle of the night, when laying dry-eyed and bored out of his wandering mind, on his shell in his bed, unable to find any peace in the sounds of the lair. Because everything felt wrong. Life had shifted out of joint with Leo's departure. He could feel his brother's absence like a material thing. As weird as that was, Mikey couldn't think of any other way to put it. Instead of his brother, he was left with this ghost-like emptiness that followed him around; that sat in the dojo, in the empty chair at the dinner table alongside Raph's seat; sometimes taking a spot inside his chest, slowly expanding like a bubble about to burst. Any second.

And when it did, he knew, he'd die.

Donnie didn't have time to listen about his fears, or worries, or panic attacks. There was never a good time to start a serious conversation. Every time Mikey tried to hang around him, his brother seemed stressed and frantic. Not like his usually calm and collected brother. He would go to talk to Donnie and end up trying to joke around with him to cheer him up or pull him out of a funk. The only times Donnie would be more like himself was when April visited. But those times the lab door was locked. No Mikey's allowed to hang out inside. It wasn't fair. But it was the way things were now.

Master Splinter was sick; laid up in his bed more days than not. Though when he'd go inside to visit his father, he seemed fine to Mikey; usually sitting up in his bed reading or meditating. For some reason, Donnie continued to insist that their sensei was seriously ill. Something about ish-a-emic heart disease and cardiomy-oh-pity or something like that, and he needed a bunch of different pills and medicine to keep him from dying. Medicine that April would have to buy for them. And they would have to earn money to pay for it.

But Splinter seemed himself. Calm and in control. Maybe a little more quiet. But he was getting older and old people did that, didn't they? Where was the problem? He couldn't be sick, so sick that he might die. No way. Not Splinter. He looked as strong as ever to Mikey. He just couldn't see it, but he'd started to wonder if maybe he didn't want to. Because all he could think of was . . . what if Master Splinter died while Leo was gone? How could they reach him to tell him? What if they never could? Which would have him thinking: What if Leo never comes back? What would they do?

Raphael was his own ghost, coming and going whenever he wanted. Wherever it was he'd slip off to, Mikey wasn't allowed to tag along. Raph had made that clear the last time he'd try ninja-sneaking out of the lair to follow him. Only to end up with a black eye. Mikey didn't need to be told twice. If Raph wanted to be alone, then fine with him. But it made things that much weirder around the lair. When he was actually home, he would sleep, constantly. Only woken by Donatello's angry voice in his ear. Their fights circled the same theme day in and day out, Donatello insisting that Raph had become lazy just because Leo was gone. Raph telling Donnie where he could stick his head-piece.

Everything had gotten so screwed up. There was too much to deal with. Too many things pressing down into his mind. He couldn't handle this much longer. He felt like he'd go crazy any minute.

A blasting horn tore him out of his attack with a sharp cry. He lurched back. His forehead marred with a pink line from where he'd been pressing it into the steering wheel between his fists. It ended just before the scar of his gunshot wound, making it look like he had a comet streaking across his forehead. He gasped, breathed in quick heavy motions, gulping at the air and blinking rapidly. At least these panic attacks didn't last too long.

"S-Sorry, dude!"

He waved out the window, tempted to throw a middle finger, but feeling the gesture useless due to the fact that he didn't really have a middle finger, not exactly, at least. With a sniff he glanced at the street sign.

"Oh crapola! Eighty-third street!" he hollered, taking a double take of the note on his dash and the street sign and spun the steering wheel frantically, making a right so sharp the bumper of his turtle-mobile nearly clipped an awaiting taxi. Someone swore at him in a language he couldn't identify. A volley of horns serenaded him down the block. The sound was still ringing in his ears as he parked and opened the back of the van to fetch his goofy overly large costume head.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later Mikey stood in a hallway, panting and sweating furiously under the foam and plastic head. The mouth piece that was supposed to allow him to breathe clogged by a chunk of birthday cake that one of the kids decided to try and force down his throat. Any air coming through was sparse and tainted with the sugary smell of powdered sugar and Crisco. He gagged.

"That's it!"

He whipped the head off and threw it down, tempted to kick it for good measure. He crouched down, shell against the wall, catching his breath. He stared at the wrapped wedge of cake in his hand and wondered why he kept bringing it home for Splinter when Donatello kept saying no sweets for sensei. He tossed it aside his mask.

He wiped his lips and tongue against his damp forearm and smacked his lips in disgust. Was there any part of his body not covered in frosting or kid slobber? If they weren't kicking him in the groin and using him as a walking piñata, they were chewing on his limbs like pygmy cannibals. Not for the first time Mikey wondered how he ended up here, doing this crap. He was a ninja for god's sake. Not a buffoon.

Then he remembered what Don had explained about Splinter's health decline for the hundredth time. Mikey stared at the sad little wedge of cake sitting in front of him. Whether he saw it or not, Donatello seemed to think something was really wrong with Master Splinter. They couldn't just steal the medicine, either. They'd need a steady supply over a long period of time. Mikey rubbed his eyes. Donnie had said for the rest of their father's life.

He picked at the tin foil covered cake.

The cost to April would be too much. She just couldn't afford it. There was no other choice but to suck it up and do what they could. He frowned. Sure, everyone except _Raph_, who seemed to get to do whatever he wanted just 'cuz he was stronger than him or Donnie. Why he didn't want to help was a mystery to Mikey and seriously had started making him hate Raph a little. Didn't he care about Master Splinter? About any of them? Mikey dropped his head between his shoulders and sighed.

The click-clacking of heels against the marble flooring had him bolting forward for the mask. It fumbled between his hands as the woman rounded the corner. Too late. He moved one foot to hide the cake wedge he'd taken.

She froze for a moment, eyes darting from the mask in his hands to his face, then back again. She blinked as if processing, then her face smoothed out and a condescending look came over her expression. "When Marion said you're clown act was unique, she wasn't kidding."

"It's uh, Cowabunga Carl . . . he's a martial arts expert turtle, not a, uh, clown."

"That get up is fantastic," she ignored him, waving her fingers at him in a general way. "I bet you worked for months to sew that together."

Mikey smiled and shrugged awkwardly; deciding to just go with it. She'd pay up and he'd be gone.

She frowned, scrutinizing his face. Folding her arms, a checkbook in one hand. "What is that, anyway? Is that . . . foam?"

"Er, not exactly, it's uh . . . a, um . . ."

He looked everywhere but at her and wished more than ever to have Don in his ear walking him through this. But after their last blow up had him throwing the ear-piece in Donnie's face, insisting that he didn't need to be babysat, that back-up was long gone. He was on his own. Like everyone else. Wasn't that what he wanted?

His face snapped up. "Special effects secret," he laughed, amazed at his own brilliance. He had this, no problem-o.

She didn't find it the least bit funny. She stared at him with a bored expression. Mikey cleared his throat, shifting the head in his hands, ducking his head. He bumped the cake with his heel to further hide it. She opened her mouth to add something else when another woman came up behind her. Heels clacking against the floor like teeth snapping in hungry jaws. A tall, thin woman wearing slacks and a silk shirt emerged from around the corner. The fringe of her white-blonde bangs brushed neatly shaped brows.

"Jackie, I," she started and stopped, eyes snapping to where he stood, sweating and shifting his feet, inching slowly down the hall towards the stairway and exit; kicking the cake along with him. "Wow . . . why do you wear that ridiculous mask if you look like that underneath?" She pointed one manicured nail in his direction.

"Kids like it better," he replied automatically and mentally high-fived himself again for his quick thinking.

"I see," she said as though she really didn't.

The woman named Jackie, the mother of the birthday kid, went back to writing out her check.

"Uh, excuse me," Mikey interrupted. She cocked a brow but didn't look at him. The other woman's eyes, meanwhile, roved over him and he squirmed, doing his best to ignore the look she was giving his legs. "C-Cash only."

"What. No, no, no. I didn't –"

Mikey's face fell. Forty-five minutes of being pummeled by a bunch of sugar-high uber-spoiled kids for nothing. Donnie would not let him live this down. Not after insisting that he could do this all on his own. It would mean more babysitting dumb little bro Mikey. Too stupid to set up his own appointments and collect the money owed for his humiliating performances.

"It-It's in the brochure, dude," he added lamely.

The woman rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry, but I didn't see anything about no checks. You're going to have to take this," she trailed off and shook her head sympathetically while the entire time her eyes told him she felt nothing but slight revulsion at the clown before her.

Mikey's mouth opened and closed. What could he do? This wasn't like fighting the Foot. He couldn't just beat it out of her. But checks were not going to cut it. He'd have to just take this one for the team. Don was going to love this. He wouldn't even make up the cost of the gas to drive uptown to this neighborhood.

"It's okay, uh, I guess." He stepped back as Jackie smirked at her companion.

"Hold on," the other woman said.

"Oh, Fiona. Really, no," Jackie stammered as Fiona reached into her slacks and pulled out a clip of bills. Under her breath she sang, "You're embarrassing me."

"Tsk, please. I've got it. Anderson had a wonderful time. It's the least I can do, since you're in this awkward little pickle."

Fiona flashed a smile that was more grimace which Jackie returned. Mikey stood back, watching the exchanged and wanting nothing but to get paid and get the heck out of there. These people made his shell itch.

Jackie gave a half shrug and spun on her spiked heel. "It's your money. Do whatever you want, Fiona." Then under her breath, but loud enough for them to hear, "You always do."

Fiona took two steps towards Mikey, closing the gap between them in her long strides. Mikey stared at the money in her hand. Each performance helped pay for Splinter's meds, pathetic amount or not, it helped. Donnie's paydays and his made it much easier for April to acquire what was needed. He had to keep that in mind to keep the shame at bay. He was helping. Doing what he could. Giving up what he needed to in order to help. And he made a few kids laugh, right? Maybe even a few might get into martial arts because of what they'd seen him do during his act. A tiny voice grumped in the back of his mind, _Who are you kidding? You're a fool. Always will be._

He reached out with one hand, the mask tucked under his opposite arm, when Fiona slid her money back a bit. Keeping it just out of his reach. Mikey blinked up at her, hand still extended. She stepped closer and he felt his shell hit the wall before he realized he was backing up. Cake wedge forgotten and a strange panicked feeling welling up in the back of his throat.

"Let me ask you something. I saw your little performance this afternoon and I was really _impressed_. All those kicks and spins and flips." Her lips spread to reveal a row of too-white teeth. Mikey was reminded of a shark. "So, tell me, little man. Do you do private parties?"

She came up on him. Her breath stank of peppermint and beneath that, something like cheap cigars. His heels braced against the cool marble but there was nowhere else to go. He was up against the wall. Her body was doused in perfume. She smelled of cloying fruity notes with some strangely familiar underlying scent that for some reason made him think of Casey. Something tickled the back of his memory. He frowned. Where did he know this scent?

"Well?" Her voice held an edge of impatience that distracted him from his train of thought.

"I-It's all in the brochure. Birthdays, B-Bar Mitzvahs, singing telegrams, y-you name it." He did his best to sound cheerful and cute as Donatello reminded him dozens of times before. The lingering unease over her familiarity slipped to the background. He just wanted his pay and to go, now, please and get out of my face, thank you very much.

She turned her head aside as if looking down the hallway. Eyes searching before flitting back to his. The pupils were huge and the white's lined with red and Mikey wondered if she was actually high on something. It would explain why she was oogling him earlier. No one in there right mind would find him or his brothers attractive. Karai was just nuts and April . . . well, there's an exception to every rule, he figured. Fiona ran the tip of her tongue along the top edge of her front teeth. Still smiling like a man-eater. Yeah, she was out of it. He felt a defensive spike at the thought of this woman, this mother, driving little Anderson through New York traffic high as a kite. He ground his teeth. Little Anderson may have been a tiny terror, but he didn't deserve to be road kill 'cuz his mother was a high-class junkie.

Before he could figure out what else to say, she flicked out the bills with a twist of her wrist, slipping a card on top. Mikey stared at the address and then gasped at the hundred dollar bill sandwiched between it and the fifty he charged for the forty-five minute show. Suddenly, he decided high was fine, great in fact, if it meant a hundred dollar tip! April was gonna freak when he handed this over!

"Are you free this Friday?"

Something made him pause. "I'll have to double check."

Her face dropped into a look of firm disappointment. She snapped her wrist back. "Yes or no. I need an answer now."

What was another party? Sure, it was short notice. Usually he only did one a week, but . . . Mikey ran his tongue along his bottom lip, pulled it in and bit it. He glanced again at the loot. What else was he doing with his time? Still some hidden sense was urging him to think. Only he had no idea what he was supposed to be mulling over here.

She waved her fingers back and forth. Mikey watched the bills as if being hypnotized. "I take it you charge more for private parties? I'd be happy to pay _any_ fee." She pressed the money into his hand.

He stared at her fingers, long and skeletal, nails painted black, with metallic blue tips, pressing the bills hard into his palm. That ripple of unease snaked through him once again. Blue and black. Black and blue. Besides the bruises he was sporting from his most recent performance, why did that look familiar? His frown deepened. Why was he even hesitating?

He would be at home on Friday. Alone in the lair, more or less. Splinter would be sleeping and he'd be listening to Donnie rattle on the tech line while flipping channels. Feeling that creeping absence of his missing brother and the lingering threats from his other brother smothering him. Waiting for Donnie to sign off only so he could start ranting about how Mikey wasn't doing his share of chores and complaining about Raph not listening to him or respecting him. Getting punched in the gut by a couple of rich seven-year-olds would be a picnic compared to that. His mind made up, he answered, "Erm, y-yeah, that's right. Double. Double for private parties. And yeah. Yes, I'm free on Friday."

"Great," the word was pulled out and elongated as she backed off and smiled her too-white smile, all edged and sharp. "Eight o'clock. Friday." She poked him once in the chest. "See you then. Cowabunga, baby."

Nodding with an expression that he hoped was one of gratitude, but feeling more of a disgusted look coming through, he slid along the wall away from her. He spun to hurry away, cake wedge forgotten, feeling relieved as he fled from her strange eyes and ugly smile. Her claw-like nails. Her odd scent that irritated him. Pricking the back of some forgotten memory. She was probably at one of the other kids' parties. These families, in this part of town, were a tightly knit click. That was how he knew that odd perfume. It had to be, he convinced himself.

A thought occurred to him and he twisted. "Oh, uh, h-how many kids will be there? Just so I know." He shifted his feet and tipped his head as he waited for an answer. She said private party. Did that mean a ton of kids or just a few?

She crossed her arms, smiling still. Saying nothing. Staring.

He waited a little longer, glancing around nervously, and when he got nothing else, he said, "Uh, okay, then. Friday," and ran down the stairs and out the front door, clutching the money and the card in his fist. His mask tucked under one sweating arm.

Once outside the building the exhaust-filled air came like a spring breeze. He threw his mask into the back of his van, slammed the double doors and hopped into the driver's seat. He curled his sweating fist, stared at the money in his grip. He blew out a breath. Why was he so worried? This was going to be great. Extra money. He glanced at the rumbled card and smoothed it against his chest before he slipped it into the holder on his dash.

"It's all good," he whispered.

The extra money was just what they needed. Between his regular pay, this tip and the money he'd make on Friday, he would be able to treat everyone to dinner and pay for Splinter's meds for the next week, easy! He couldn't wait to rub Donnie's nose in the fact that he was bringing home more this week. And all arranged on his own. No thanks to anyone but himself.

* * *

When Raph opened his eyes, he found Bonnie's lace-bound breast beneath his cheek, moist from his drool. He jerked and scrambled away; falling in a heap onto the floor. Pain speared through him. He groaned and wrapped his right arm around to hold his left side as he rolled, curling towards the site of his wound.

"Ah, fuck. Ah, fuck it all," he ground out, trying to breathe through the cramping pain.

"Geez, guy. Are you okay?" Bonnie asked, popping up from the couch and crouching on the floor in front of him. Buttoning her blouse.

Raph's eyes swept to the floor as his face colored. He wiped his moist chin with one shoulder. What the hell happened last night!? His frantic mind replayed what he remembered.

He found out Casey was hanging out with Bonnie who was employed through Venom. Venom! The jerk-offs from Germany that thought torturing and raping young women equated to honorable means of revenge. He'd gotten pissed thinking Casey was doing something stupid again. Working for them as he'd done before.

Bonnie kept saying something about Casey trying to help her. He'd made Casey explain. And he had. That was the long and short of it. Casey was not doing what Raph was afraid of: he wasn't involved at all with the Foot Clan's rival. Not in any way. Casey had told him pretty much what Bonnie had said earlier. He was trying to get her free from the miserable life she seemed intent on choosing for herself.

After that . . . what? What happened? It had been later, or early, whatever. It was in the middle of the damn night and he'd just gotten stitched up from being shot. Yeah, he remembered that part just fine. Casey went back to bed. Bonnie had given him a drink. It was strong and clear. And then . . . ? He grabbed his forehead with one clawed hand, while the other was braced tightly against his throbbing abdomen. Try as he might, he couldn't conjure up any shred of memory as to how he got so close to the woman. Had they . . . had she . . .?

"B-Bonnie," he asked breathlessly. "What. Why's your . . . and m-my face . . ."

Understanding seemed to dawn on her. She sat back on her bottom and laughed. Raph was not amused. Hurt, angry, woozy, yes. Amused, no. He shifted, wincing, and propped his shell against the bottom of the sofa, resting his arms atop his bent knees; glaring at the air in front of him, feeling his face burning. If Leo ever came back and found out about this, he'd never hear the end of it.

"You want to know if we did it?"

He nodded slowly, feeling the throb ease from his wound, but humiliation taking its place in quick succession. God, what kind of freak loses his virginity and doesn't remember a single thing from the experience? From the corner of his eye, he saw her shaking her head. He risked a glance to confirm it and felt a swell of relief. Off the hook. A twinge of disappointment twisted somewhere in his chest. He coughed.

"Nope. Sorry. We didn't. You were so worked up, yelling like a nut at Casey. I thought you were gonna need more stitches. So, I gave you a drink with a little added something."

Raph's face dropped. "You . . . You're saying you . . . drugged me?"

She sucked in her lips and nodded. Then giggled. "Only a little. For sleeping. You are one wound up, uh -"

"Turtle," he snapped.

"Turtle. And I thought you might still be in pain?"

No wonder his head felt so groggy. Oh, this was great. First shot, then drugged. It would have been funny if it wasn't so infuriating. And pathetic. Some vigilante superhero he was turning out to be. He considered renaming himself the Nightly-Failure.

He huffed, a bitter half-smile on his face quickly evaporating before it had a chance to get comfortable on his face. "Do me a favor, Bonnie."

She leaned closer to him, hands braced on her thighs. Eyes wide, listening. "Whatever you want, babe."

"Don't ever fucking do that to me again," he growled in a low voice, meeting her eyes with the hardest look he could manage with his head spinning and body cramping.

It had the effect he was going for. She jumped up. Hands on her hips, "Well, excuse me. I was just tryin' to help you."

"Yeah, well, I don't need that kind of help," he barked.

She spun on her heel and stormed out of the room, curls bouncing along with her backside.

Women. If they weren't screaming in your face after risking your life to save 'em, or trying to kill ya with their father's army, they were trying to poison ya. He struggled to get to his feet, swayed and righted himself. He glanced out the window, noting the light. It was well past midday. _Dammit_. He had planned to crash and leave come morning. Donnie was going to shit enough bricks to build a fort.

He hustled into the kitchen where Bonnie was slamming pans onto the stove. He eyed her for a second and felt the sudden irrational urge to apologize before he caught himself.

Apologize for what? _Letting her drug me!?_

"Where's Casey?" He frowned as he realized only now, that some of his words were slurring. What the hell did she give him?

She ignored him and continued making breakfast by tossing whole eggs, shell in all, into the sizzling oil. Raph grimaced.

"What's up?" Casey asked, emerging from the back porch with an ax. The screen door slammed. He set the ax down next to the back door. He smirked at Raph's expression as he took in the weapon. "Just hiding the evidence." Raph's face snapped up as Bonnie spun around. Casey put up his hands. "Geez, kids. Relax. It was a joke."

"Fantastic. I need a ride."

"Can we eat first?" Casey asked and only then did he notice the smoking mess in the frying pan as Bonnie cranked the can opener around the rim of a can of hash which she then poured on top of it. He exchanged side-long looks with Raph. "On second thought, a road trip sounds nice." Then to Bonnie as Raph marched past him, wobbling for some reason that Casey chalked up to his friend's wound, "I wish you'd think about what you're doing."

"Just making you some breakfast." She threw the pan onto the back burners and folded her arms. "Not that it would be appreciated."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it. Bonnie." He stuck his hands into his back pockets. "Look, I know you gotta go, but I wish . . . Let me help you."

She spun around and leaned her backside against the stove, arms crossed over her chest. Casey eased her to one side, both hands on her hips, before her blouse or pants caught fire.

"Watch that."

"It's fine."

"You know it's anything but fine."

Silence grew between them. Finally, she shrugged. "I told you. They don't treat us bad," she offered. Then pulled away. "It's better than before. With the pimps." He stared at her, face crushing into a hurting expression.

She gave him a shove. "I don't need you lookin' at me like that, Casey. I've told you before. I ain't leaving. And it's . . . it's fun. Okay, yeah. There. That's right. What do you think of that? And! I'm good at what I do. I love it. HA!"

Casey continued to stare at her and she knew he didn't believe a word of her poorly scripted lies.

She pulled at a lock of hair, stuck it in one corner of her mouth and chewed, looking everywhere but at the man in front of her. "I got nothing else. Nothing but my friends. I'm one of the few humans they trust. And . . . And they look up to me. But you know what? They _need_ me. If I'm not there to help them . . . Mona tries but, she's hanging on by a thread and the things that happen to Tahir . . . oh god." Her eyes grew glassy and her jaw set, jutting her chin out in a way that was both adorable and excruciatingly sad to Casey. "I'm going back to the island. Casey Jones. If you're gonna save me, you're gonna have to save all of us."

"Bonnie, be reasonable."

Before he could say anything else, Raph pressed on the pick-up truck's horn, blasting it as Casey stood staring at Bonnie, helpless to do anything good, but wanting to do something right for once.

"I know you're a good man. And I hope I didn't make you too mad." He reached for her, shaking his head. She stepped out of his reach. "But, I gotta go," she said finally as the last echoing note of the horn faded. "I'm meeting Miss Strumpf in the city and then I'm going back. Back home," she emphasized.

Casey nodded, ran a hand through his hair and mussed the back of it. "Fine. But, I'm gonna figure this out. I swear, I-I . . ." His words died in his throat as she gave him a patronizing smile. Sad and without a hint of sarcasm or anger. "Lemme at least give you a ride. I'm takin' grump-ass back anyway."

She shrugged and nodded; wiped her face and blew out a breath, looking around for the bag that she had packed yesterday before Raph had shown up, shot and bleeding. No matter where in the world they came from, no matter their gender or abilities, mutants, or special people, as Bonnie had decided to think of them, had a habit of needing someone to care for them.

The horn started up again. More insistent than before.

She frowned and looked at Casey, squinting her eyes. "That guy needs to get laid."

"Er, I dunno about that. Raph needs . . . a lot of things."

* * *

**A/N: **I'm soooo sorry about the long delay. Lots of stuff happened between when I wrote the first sentence of this chapter and the last. Family health scares, a vacation, a final and finally the TMNT MOVIE! Which I adored. But anyway, thank you all for your patience! I'll do better, I swear.

And just what the hell is Mikey getting himself into? Are you enjoying it so far!? I promise I'll try to get these updates out sooner! MWAH!


	4. Interruptions

**Chapter 4 - Interruptions**

* * *

Master Splinter turned in his bed; sheets soaked through with perspiration; face pinched with distress.

It seemed in what remained of his dwindling life, he would be subjected to the terror and dread of second guessing every choice he'd ever made. Doubt grew into a beast that stalked his dreams. That gnawed through to the marrow of his soul, diminishing his already weakened state, and filling him with a brittle paranoia of what awaited him on the other side.

His days had him drifting in a distracted fog. In a daze he crept through the lair, searching the rooms for something missing, unsure of what exactly it was he sought, until he stood in front of his eldest son's room. Empty and somehow cavernous despite the cramped size. The air still, pregnant with accusations; the dust gathering to conspire against him. Whispering of a ghost trailing alongside his shadow. The son he'd cast aside; abandoned until he returned, hardened and changed; asking little but giving all. He'd made it clear. There was nothing more for Leonardo in this life. But honor and duty. Fealty to the clan, small as it was. Complete loyalty to his wishes. Spurning all else.

He gazed about the room, felt the tremor run through him; the stumbling of a heart in the long slow process of dying. His son. Lost to treachery; stolen by false promises of a life that was impossible for him; for any of his children. Splinter had done his best to protect him. He had tried to be the father that Leonardo needed. The Sensei, firm and true; placing his student upon a righteous path; pushing past the obstacles, no matter what the cost to his relationship with his child. Because it was to protect him. To protect all of his children. And yet, regret was his constant companion.

If his days were filled with confusion, loss and regrets, his nights were nothing but torment. Visions of the past haunted him in vivid clarity.

The stern figure of his father standing next to an equally displeased mother. The matchmaker sipping tea and the young man that Yoshi was, human and possessing of every frailty of that race, stood rigid and awkward in a recently purchased 'Ivy Style' shirt and vest, pressed pants, creased and pointed patent-leather shoes. The bell rang. The servants hurried in shuffling steps, bowed backs and low-cast eyes. And Yoshi held his breath.

When she entered, wearing a high-collared white dress with embroidered rose buds across the bodice and the flared skirt, the air seemed to grow lighter, the world seemed to expand and contract on her delicate loveliness. Her dark hair was pulled back and she gazed around the room demurely from beneath a fringe of thick bangs. She bowed low to his parents and the matchmaker introduced them. Yoshi's heart was in his throat when he reached out to shake her hand. Little did he know that with that small gesture, he'd just given away his heart.

Though she was not from a wealthy family, she had good ancestry. Her father had died when she was only an infant and she was raised by her mother and aunt. She was named after a close friend of her mother's. A Chinese woman that had been like a sister to her, but sadly had drowned when her family had gone on vacation in the south.

Everything about Tang Shen captivated him. She was hesitant around him and often withdrawn; introverted. Yoshi thought it was a natural shyness, but soon learned that she was reluctant for an altogether separate reason. The source of her distraction lay in the poverty-stricken fishing district. A young man, younger than Yoshi by ten years, by the name of Oroku Saki.

Splinter twisted the sheets in his claws.

The memory of the love letters, so carefully hidden in the lovely painted box at the very back of their closet, discovered while he searched for the small safe holding their wedding documents, of all things, rose up in his dreaming mind. Her look of shock when he confronted her. Her denials. Her tears. His fury. The betrayal like ash in the back of his throat. If he meant nothing, then why had she kept these declarations of lust and yearning? Why was the last letter dated not more than a week after their wedding? But two months ago.

She had pleaded. She had explained. Then, finally, she had shown him the truth. Saki was her lover, an act of defiance against her aunt and mother who believed rigidly in the class system hidden in plain view within their families. But Shen had sworn that she had ended things before the wedding. Long before. It was Saki that would not let the past rest. It was Saki that felt Yoshi was the intruder; stealing her away with his status and wealth.

But it explained it all and the pieces of the hideous puzzle came falling into place. Her subtle recalcitrance; her introversion when alone with him. The frosted veil that separated them, always. Colder still when she'd turn away from him in bed; afterwards. No. She never loved him. And he was a fool. For trusting her. For tricking himself into thinking she was only shy in her nature. For believing that she might come to love him, in time. The lies woven so easily from her lips to his ears; so greedy to believe them. His heart so blind. So blind. He would never be such a fool again.

Their argument turned to shouting. Yoshi's hand never strayed to harm her, though he tore at the bamboo blinds hanging across the windows; ripping down the silk curtains; he kicked the desk where she had no doubt sat and penned returning letters to her lost lover; the one her heart truly belonged to.

He never noticed the lit candles upon the desk. Scented delicately to promote balance; contentment. He stormed from the house, as she collapsed to the floor in her shame and sorrow. He never smelled the smoke as the flames lit upon the silken pillows, dancing in the joy of broken dreams; hopping and flickering over the flammable folds of the fallen curtains; catching so quick. Like the instant that love dies.

Splinter gasped in his sleep, as the imagined smoke smothered him. For now it was not Shen trapped within the inferno that their home so soon became; but he. And his home became a labyrinth of walls and brick and stone and crumbling mortar. He tumbled over chunks of burning cement, slipping through hot puddles surrounding his ankles, blinking through the stinging smoke; trying to make his way out of the tunnel-like hallway; at once his home in Japan and the lair beneath the city.

Splinter writhed and yanked at the blankets upon him as his dreaming-self crawled through and over burning debris on his hands and knees, searching for a way out, but also seeking another. Knowing he was there; trapped as he was; but unable to find him. Calling a name that was foreign to his human ears and yet as familiar as his mother's voice.

"Leonardo!"

He tumbled to one side as a wall collapsed in a searing blast of heat. He rose up on one elbow, looking up to see his son there, just at the furthest end of the tunnel; draped by long tendrils of mossy vines and curling ferns. The wretched kunoichi in his arms. Yoshi trembled in fright and rage. Knowing she had betrayed his son. Knowing that it was all her fault. This destruction. It was her fault. His son's peril; it was her fault. And now, Yoshi knew, Leonardo would burn for her as he still burned for Tang Shen.

"No," he coughed.

Leonardo remained standing stoically so that the flames enveloped him as well; eating through the green foliage surrounding him; charring the emerald of his flesh until it blackened; the blue of his eyes incandescent and blazing bright through the billowing dark clouds. Glowing. Brighter than the flames consuming him. Staring through to see the fault in his father; the blame and disgust in that unearthly gaze searing Yoshi's heart. Yoshi screamed as the walls around him buckled in a shower of brilliant ash; reaching for Leonardo, to save him; despite his son's apparent hatred.

Splinter cried out in his bed, but it was choked and weak. He kicked and coughed and sputtered, choking on the phlegm building in the back of his throat; seizing and struggling in Donatello's arms as his son lifted him from the mattress, propping him up to allow air to work its way through his pinched throat. Speaking gently. Dark eyes wide and standing out from the dark circles lining his lower lids.

"Master, easy. Here, drink this."

The rim of a glass. Cool water. The choking dissolved into broken gasps. He sipped and swallowed, sipped again and nodded that it was enough. Donatello twisted to set the glass aside and then paused, noticing the pills on the little tray from this morning. He gave Splinter a sidelong glance.

"Master," he began, "did you remember to take your pills earlier."

Splinter looked away.

Donatello took the chipped plate in one hand and lifted Splinter's wrist, turning it over, with his other. He deposited the capsules into his father's palm with a pointed look.

Splinter closed his fingers over them, dropped his hand into his lap. "Has any word arrived from him? It has been several weeks."

Donatello pulled the headset off the top of his head; wiping his chin with the back of one hand. He sighed and fingered the cushioned ear-piece. He was in the middle of taking a tech assist call when he'd heard Splinter crying out from his room. He hung up on the client, risking his position and rushed to see what was wrong with him. Worried that his father's weakened heart had finally failed. The same worry that kept him half-awake every night; listening for the slightest sound of discomfort; body tingling and tense; ready to act as quickly as he could to save their father should he go into cardiac arrest.

The sleepless nights were starting to affect him. And the stress over Raph's erratic behavior and mood swings, not to mention Mikey's venturing out as a clown into the heart of the city, risking their safety but stubbornly refusing to see the potential for disaster and adamantly resisting his suggestions to find other, more stealthy work, wasn't helping him, either.

He glanced at Splinter's hopeful, if not exhausted, expression. "No," he said quietly.

As soon as the negative slipped his mouth, Splinter shifted and began speaking, his voice thready and tired, "Ah, no matter. I'm sure we'll hear from him again in due time. It is no concern." He patted Donatello's arm. "I'm well, my son. Go back to work."

Donatello looked unsure. He glanced at his father's fist, covering the pills, frowning softly before looking up at him again. "He's probably playing it safe."

Splinter nodded without looking at him. "When he returns, he will be a man. Ready to take on his full responsibilities, the way he was meant to." Then it seemed as though he were trying to convince himself, speaking low, "It is a good thing. To find oneself. Removed from distraction. To center and return whole."

Donatello felt the familiar anger well up and wash over the compassion he felt for his father's well-being. If Splinter hadn't sent Leonardo away, their lives wouldn't be in this upheaval. If his father would have responded with rationality instead of irrational emotions, forcing Leo into an archaic role that none of them wished for their brother to take on; were they a family or a clan? Was it possible to be both?

Donatello stood up abruptly. His palms suddenly clammy. He snapped the head piece back on. He took several steps towards the door, fuming and disjointed. He didn't wish for his father to suffer. And yet . . . it was beyond frustrating that the source of his anguish was due to his own short-sightedness. His own narrow vision of what the Hamato family represented. It was nonsense at best; it was killing them all, at worst. His hand hesitated at the rice paper frame.

Over his shoulder he snapped, barely able to hide his contempt, "Be sure to take your meds on time, Sensei. You wouldn't want to die before Leonardo returns from his punishment."

He slipped through the door and slammed it in place before Splinter could protest his tone or words. Instantly, though, he felt a wave of regret. His father was dying. Slowly but surely. Did he really want some of his last interactions with him to be filled with spite and anger? His breath caught in his throat.

He turned and stood before the door and place one palm against the delicate surface; struggling with himself. Torn in half. His loyalty to his brother, being punished for daring to love someone other than his family; his love for his father, stubborn and steeped in ridiculous notions of familial fidelity and duty; Donatello's desire to just have his family back together, as they once were, simple, happy; to have some sense of balance once again; of clarity. Misery from it all pulled at him. They were falling apart without Leonardo. And he was the one left to hold it all together. But he was a failure. A complete failure. Raphael refused to obey a single order he handed out. Donatello was sure that his brother hated him. And he didn't understand why. He hadn't chosen this role. He would have refused it if Leonardo hadn't asked him, just before he left to follow Master Splinter's wishes. To obey in his absence. To keep the peace. And as for the youngest member of the family...Donnie sighed. Mikey wouldn't listen to any of his advice. And Splinter wasn't taking his medicine as prescribed.

Then there was that little secret plying insistently in the back of his mind. Karai. Before she left - what was it now, months ago - he had stumbled upon something that could not be true. Could not be. And it preoccupied his thoughts whenever he had a moment's peace; which was rare. But he could not shake the surety that she was, or had been, carrying Leonardo's child. Thus the reason she needed to know the approximation of his whereabouts.

He'd never gotten the chance to bring it up with April. A part of him refusing to acknowledge the possibility despite his resolute deduction. Between running the family and working, caring for his ailing father and maintaining their home, he hadn't had a chance to really think it through. And a part of him was still afraid. What would she think of the idea that they were compatible not only for sexual activity, but for procreation.

Even just the thought of it spurned within him a feeling of derisive scorn, as though the two halves of his mind were at odds. He shook his head. A pounding migraine marched towards the front of his skull. He rubbed his brow furiously and swore under his breath.

"Tough morning?"

He jumped and looked up. And just like that, the sun blazed through the misting haze, and something akin to joy swept through him.

"April," he said breathlessly. And perhaps it was the mixed emotions he experienced every time he spent any longer than five minutes in his father's presence, but he hurried forward, skipping around the clutter of their living room, mindless of looking desperate or needy and embraced her tightly.

"Whoa!" she chuckled and returned his hug with one arm. "That bad, huh?" she asked as he finally eased back. The haunted look in his eye sobered her at once. She ran her fingertips along the side of his face, pressed a quick kiss to his lips and asked, "Is everything okay?"

He huffed and looked away. "Yes. No, not really." He squinted up at her, "What was the question again?"

She handed him the thermos she held. "Here, this should help clear the cobwebs."

He took it from her gratefully. He pried off the lid and sniffed. His face jerked up as an incredulous smile broke over his face.

"Double Espresso?"

She held up three fingers, "Dead Eye, hon. Extra tall. The only place that serves it is Gene Genie's up on 63rd Street. I had to hustle before it got cold even with the insulated mug."

"Did I ever tell you you're an angel?" She smiled as he sipped and then took a long draught. He rolled his eyes and shifted his weight to his heels. "D'uh-yeah, that's the good stuff."

"Mikey home?"

He peered over the rim of the thermos and shook his head. He licked the top of his lip, relishing the brittle cocoa notes of the brew.

"And Raph?"

His expression dropped and he gave her a flat look. "I told him to stay in last night, for what? The tenth time this week, I think." He twisted and indicated the living room with one hand, then dropped it and slapped his thigh. "So, where is the stubborn lug? Your guess is as good as mine. I-I mean, he could be anywhere, really. Who the heck knows?! I should know, since I'm in charge of the team, but, heck, that doesn't seem to matter to anyone around here."

"Okay, forget I brought him up."

He ducked his head. Opened his mouth and closed it once before saying, "Sorry, it's been another long week."

"I know," she wrapped her arm around his shell as she accompanied him towards his work station set up in one corner of his lab. "I've had a bad one, too. Classes have been crazy this week. Finals start in a week."

He stopped suddenly, looking aghast. "Oh, April. I forgot all about them. I-I . . . wait," he hurried to his desk and set the cup down on top of a large stack of technical hardware and software manuals. He rummaged around. "Where, is that tablet . . . I had one. An operational one." His searching became more frantic. He tossed a pile of notebooks aside and they tumbled into a mass of loose papers and schematics. "Dammit, er, sorry. I just. I have my calendar on this . . . this tablet that I built and now – really, I did take time off to help you study. I just need to find the darn thing."

A shrill ringing startled him. He pressed the button on the side of his headset. "Y-Yeah, er, good morning, this is Donatello with tech services. How can I assist you?"

He shook his head, still casting about for the missing tablet. Absentmindedly listening to the frustrated voice on the other end of the line.

"Uh, what's the model number? You don't know." He sighed. "Well, if you look - I'm sorry, what?" He huffed through his nose. "N-No. No. I didn't mean anything by that. Look. If I don't know the model you're having trouble with then I can't offer any concrete – Oh. Well, we don't supply technical support for that . . . no, I'm sorry."

He crossed his arms and then leaned forward and tapped a few keys on one of the many keyboards strewn about the work surface. He straightened up with a frown. "No, sir." He glanced at April who gave him a sympathetic look. Donatello frowned at the air in front of him. "That is not what I'm suggesting. Well, I'm sorry you're taking it that way, but . . . I understand. No, I do comprehend just how much money you . . . No. I was not sassing you. I was agreeing with you."

April shifted uncomfortably as Donatello became more agitated.

"Look sir, why don't you . . . Mm . . . I think that kind of language is uncalled for." He paused. Closed his eyes. "There really isn't any reason for you to . . . If you continue berating me for something that I have no control over, I will have to report this to my -" He reached out for a clipboard and knocked the thermos over. It tipped before April could catch it, spilling over the textbooks and on to a pile on the floor. "Oh, Dammit! Uh, n-no, I wasn't . . . I didn't - That's right."

He nodded rapidly, face flushed. "And you can go fuck yourself, too."

"Donnie!"

He ripped the headset off his head and flung it at the screen; chest heaving. Fists opening and closing. He glanced at April, jaw working. "They'd hung up already. After calling me . . . Well, you don't want to know." He sighed. "You know . . . it was easier when I could just knock out the guy attacking me with my bo." He dropped his forehead into his hand and groaned. "Douglas is going to hand me my shell over this one."

April chewed on her lip. She moved closer and he stepped back, hands up to ward her off. "I-I'm sorry. This has just been . . . the crap-topping of the garbage smorgasbord of my week."

He huffed as she determinedly clutched at him with her fingertips as she inched him into an embrace. He remained rigid at first, but then slowly relented into her arms, wrapping his own around her back, turning his head to breathe in the scent of her hair. Something in the scent of her hair, in the way she softly pressed tiny kissed into his cheek shattered his resolve and he felt something inside him collapse.

He held her tighter, "April." He heaved a deep sigh. A tremor ran through him. "I haven't heard from Leo in over three weeks and Raph never checked in with me last night and Mikey's late. Master Splinter was screaming in his sleep again and I thought . . . I thought he was. . . _ugh_." He shuddered. "I can't do this. I just can't."

She rested her head on his shoulder. He was taking on so much these past few months. She wished she could make it all go away for him. Make things simple and easy; but it seemed that turtle-luck, as Raph coined it, held true to form. Still, she wanted to help. Somehow. Softly, she murmured, "Leo probably couldn't safely mail his letters. Raph is most likely with Casey and Mikey's probably stuck in traffic." She pulled slightly out of his hold. "I'll be able to pick up more of those sleep aids that are safe for heart patients tomorrow for Master Splinter."

He nodded morosely, looking at his finger and thumb as it ran a tendril of her hair between them. She reached up and cupped the sides of his face with her hands.

"And I have never once doubted your ability to handle this, Mr. Donatello Hamato. You are brilliant and steadfast and doing everything right for this family. You're perfect."

"Well, I dunno how steadfast I've been with the little sleep I've been getting."

She smiled and pulled his face down into a long, warm kiss. He melted into it. His hands slipped over her shoulders and down over to her lower back. Their kiss morphed into something deeper, more heated. His fingers dipped and cupped her bottom. She groaned into his mouth, appreciatively. A low churr started in the back of his throat. He shuffled forward until she bumped into the desk. With one arm, he swept the manuals, papers, clipboards and keyboards aside. They tumbled in a cascade over the edge of the desk. He kicked the chair away to make room. It spun in a lazy circle behind them.

April's lips pressed and eased back as she lifted the hem of her shirt and hefted it over herself and tossed it aside. Her hands went back to his mask tails, roving up to the knot where her fingers deftly untied it. She slid it free as his hands roamed along the sides of her body, stopping to run his thumbs along the bottom and sides of her lace-clad breasts. Her knees opened wider and he leaned in, gasping between their kisses.

"Oh god, April," Donnie groaned.

"It's been so long," April moaned, dragging him closer, using her heels to hook his against the back of his thighs.

"Too long," he agreed, bringing his mouth down alongside her neck, lapping and nipping along her collar bone. "Much too long," he growled softly.

"I've missed you," she turned her head as he raised up again to meet her mouth with his.

He nodded. "Stupid school."

"Stupid work," she added with a wry grin.

He cupped her breasts and his eyelids fluttered, "Stupid responsibilities."

"Who needs 'em," she purred and lapped at his jaw. He jumped as she nibbled along his neck to the spot just where it connected to his shoulder. She carefully tipped her head to drive her incisor in the spot that she knew drove him wild.

"Ohho, April," He rose on his tip-toes before falling back down, tugging at the waistband of her jeans. "Too . . . Too much clothes."

She smirked at his falling into cave-man talk. It happened to be the case that Donatello's higher mental capacities shut down when he was particularly excited. It wasn't often, but she loved it when it happened. She giggled.

"No laugh. More kiss," he growled, fulfilling the demand on his end. The tugging on her jeans became more frantic.

"Hurry," she urged him.

_"Yes."_

He fumbled with the button of her jeans, until she shoved his hands out of the way and undid them herself. He gripped the sides of her legs and yanked at the material as she rose up to allow them to slide off her bottom and hips. He noted the lacy panties that matched the blue of her bra. He whimpered, stooping to get her jeans down off her legs, pausing on the way up to plant kisses along her inner thigh.

"Oh, yeah, Don."

"April, uh, I want you. So bad. So . . . So much bad."

She giggled, but gasped and jumped as his face nuzzled between her legs and he gently caught the panties with his teeth, pulling at the thin material without grazing her. She shuddered. "I-I need you. Please, Don."

_"Yes."_

His fingers hooked in the band of her panties, started to yank them down.

Michelangelo chose that moment to appear in the doorway. "Hey Don, you'll never guess whaaaaaiiieee! Who-oa! Bad timing! Really bad! Didn't see a thing! Hi, April!"

April screamed and Donatello shot up, bringing the underwear with him, draped over his head as he leaped in front of April. _"Mikey!"_

"My bad!" Mikey covered his reddened face as he dashed from the scene hollering, "But, you know. Didn't expect a porno shoot in your work space, bro. Just wanted to talk to you about a job I got!"

April groaned and leaned her weight on Donatello's shell. He was trembling in fury. After a moment, she burst out laughing. Don turned, exasperated, pulling the panties from the top of his head. He handed them back to her. His shoulders dropped.

"I'm sorry about that." He sounded more than a little let down and disgusted, "I should have locked the door."

She hopped off the desk and pulled her clothes on. He watched her with a hang-dog expression. She laughed again and reached out to cup his cheek.

"Listen, this?" Her finger swung between them. "This is far from over, Mister Hamato."

He eyed her with his head still down.

"Oh yeah. You don't start something like that and leave a girl hanging. We are definitely doing a rain check on this, got it? Tonight?"

He brightened. "Actually, tonight works for me! I-I'm off tonight."

She came up close on him, tracing his jaw with her fingertip. "Then it's a date, cowboy."

He cocked a brow, "Cowboy?"

She gripped the front of his plastron and pulled him close, her eyes took on a sultry gleam, "You're gonna ride this pony to the ground."

_"Haaah,"_ Don breathed.

"Uh, I can hear you," Mikey chirped in a slightly grossed out voice.

_"Mikey!"_ Donnie screamed at him again.

"I'll be in my room if you need me later, ugh, _nevermind_ you'll be busy riding your _pony_." The sound of sniggering reached them.

**"MIKEY!"** Donnie and April screamed in unison.

* * *

**A/N:** Finally, an update! I know, forgive me, my darlings! I've been writing like mad these past two weeks, possessed with everything from evil Slash to 2k14 AprilxDonnie, AprilxRaph and even AprilxLeo romance! EEP! Karai is gonna kick my a** for me XD I gotta update Domino...before much longer, heehee!

OH! And don't forget the stealthystories Halloween/Horror fic competition! It's coming up! Check the website or my Deviantart for more info and please think about participating - it's always more fun when more people get in on it! xoxox


	5. Ghost of the Jungle

_"Powerlessness is an excruciating pain; it is torture insurmountable."_ \- Richelle E. Goodrich

* * *

**Chapter 5 – Ghost of the Jungle**

* * *

In the distance, between the heavily laden branches, a jagged line of lightning cut the sky horizontally. Beyond, the clouds hung steel-gray, near black. The jungle was still. A collective hush permeated the surroundings. Usually a chorus of monkeys, birds and insects drew up a curtain of noise all around them. Their silence was uncanny, making him jumpy. A knot of anxiety was lodged in the center of his chest that he could not rid himself of, no matter how busy he'd tried to keep himself that morning doing katas and attempting to meditate; Karai's despondent sighing and restlessness doing nothing to help him focus.

Oppressive humidity made breathing hard, moving through the thick underbrush even harder, best to stay underground as he'd tried to explain to her. In the cave that he had made into their temporary home, the air was cooler. It held a faint crisp scent of fresh water, for a spring ran through the back end of the cave and provided them with fresh water when too tired to venture out to the pool he'd found half a mile away within the national park. He had insisted that she remain there while he gathered their fresh bedding and went to fish in the pool for their dinner. The exertion on her body of entering and exiting the cave, holding her usually close to his shell because he didn't trust the make-shift wench he'd made to carry her safely in and out, was something that left him shaken with terror.

But like most things they argued over, Karai won out in the end.

"Karai, there is no reason to venture out," he'd stated as he pointed out the fact their rations of food were plentiful. She was already climbing into the ropy vines they'd use, pack slung over one shoulder. "Stay here where it's cooler." He crossed the cave floor and reached for her, but she shrug him off. And wheeled around with a narrow-eyed look that told him she was in no mood.

"Leo, don't tell me what to do."

She was drenched with sweat. Several strands of her silken locks were sticking to the side of her face. Her tank clung to her curvaceous body and the firm roundness of her pregnant stomach caused him to feel protective and strangely aroused. But overall was the concern. The dread of dealing with someone he loved dearly but could not control. She wasn't going to listen. She never did. Why he expected her to start now was a mystery to even him. He sighed. The only thing he could do was accompany her.

He'd scrambled up behind her, following the pregnant kunoichi who remained surprising quick and light on her feet despite being near seven months pregnant. He'd braced his legs on either side of her where she sat, cradled in the loop of the vines and couldn't oppress his tremble as she wrapped her arms around his thighs. Her cheek pressed to his lower plastron. It brought too many rushed images of what she'd been doing to him lately. His cheeks flushed. He cleared his throat; focused on the clawing dread in the pit of his stomach insisting that this was not a good idea and any excitement pooling in his stomach melted away. With a grunt, he'd pulled the vines until they started upwards. Muscles coiling and bunching in the process.

They'd reached the top and without pausing, she'd unwound herself from him and scrambled from her spot and hurried out into the underbrush. Leo followed close on her heels. He glanced above them. The threatening storm hung limp and ominous above the canopy. He could taste the damp electric buzz in the air and his body broke out instantly in a fine sheen of sweat. This heat could not be good for her. He had to convince her to go back. To let him take care of whatever it was she was after.

"I'm not trying to tell you what to do," he spoke to her back as they pushed through the ferns and vines, picking up on her earlier accusation. He'd cleared this path only a few days before, but the jungle seemed intent on asserting its dominance over their meager attempts to tame it in any way. He sighed as he got no response from her. By the set of her shoulders and forceful forward gait, he knew she was not happy. He would not give up. He had to make her see his reasoning. However, reasoning with the woman who owned his heart was not a simple thing.

He ran a tongue over his bottom lip and tasted the salt. "I-I'm only concerned. This heat is hard to deal with and today is particularly humid, Karai. And I think it's going to storm. Don't you hear how quiet it is? It only gets like this before a monsoon. Can't you go into the village some other day? Don't you agree that I'm right in this? Karai? Can you just . . . stop a minute and listen to me? I'm . . . I'm just worried about you . . . and our baby."

She stopped tromping through the underbrush and spun around. Ringed by shimmering fauna and dripping vines, the emerald of her eyes seemed to glow and tendrils of her hair stood out from her pony tail, creating a dark umbra around her head. She looked as untamed as the jungle around her. Just as beautiful and mysterious. Just as dangerous.

He staggered to a halt, inches away, hands up. Pleading. Her pale face glistened with perspiration. Her eyes snapped at him. And beneath them, he noted the dark circles as his heart pinched and picked up speed. Allowing her to come up here was a bad idea. Guilt pricked at his stomach, a porcupine of regret rolling around within him.

"I know!" she cried suddenly making him jump. "And that's why I have to go."

He frowned and opened his mouth. She dropped her head and lifted a finger as she caught her breath and reigned in her temper. Taking his advantage, he plowed on, "If there's anything you need, I will get it for you. Karai, just tell me."

"What I need, is to get _out_ of that cave. And get away from _you_."

He blinked at that, unable to hide his hurt.

She pressed her mouth into a tight line and dropped her head once again, turning it to cast around at their surroundings, looking everywhere but at him, hands on her hips. "Ugh, Look, Leo. I don't want to fight with you. But I need to get some air. I've been stuck in that shitty hole in the ground for days and days and I just can't – I'm going crazy!" She adjusted the strap over her shoulder and huffed, catching her breath. Before he could respond, she went on, "Just give me some space. Okay? I won't be long in the village. I –" she pitched forward with a wince and her hand flew to the side of her stomach. She made a soft strangled noise from the back of her throat, then cursed softly.

Leo started. He lurched forward with a gasp. He tried to gather her into his arms to turn her back towards their home. Panicked but gentle and firm.

But she scrambled backwards, knocking his reaching arms away roughly. Slapping at his hands. "Get off me! Will you please BACK the fuck OFF!" she screamed in his face and he wilted. A beat later he straightened up and snatched her by her wrists, face determined.

"No. It's my job to keep you safe. If you're too stubborn to see how foolish this is, then I will make you see. You will get back to our cave and not come out until I decide you're strong enough."

Karai's entire body and countenance froze into a rigid statue. Leonardo blinked, realizing his mistake too late. His knotted stomach sank. Slowly her glittering eyes narrowed to slits. A vein throbbed near her temple but nothing else moved.

Leo's throat worked as he searched her face, seeing how furious he'd just made her, but he obstinately held on to her wrists. Meeting her stubbornness with a helping of his own. "F-For your own good," he dug himself deeper. "For the baby's sake," he sealed the coffin lid.

Her hands twisted around his and she took hold of his wrists as his eyes popped. She brought up her heel and push kicked him squarely in the chest as she released him. He flew backwards, stumbling over hidden vines, tumbling onto his shell as she staggered forward, cringing and holding her stomach with both hands. Her face was a mask of outrage, pale and cheeks flushed deep scarlet. He peered up at her from between the serrated leaves. He started and shook off a small brown snake that had wound up on his shoulder.

She panted and grimaced and through gritted teeth she snarled, "Don't. You. EVER. Order me around AGAIN." With a groan she spun on her heel, letting out a scream of outrage. Several brightly colored toucans erupted from where they were hidden in the canopy above them, squawking in hoarse protests.

Leo scrambled to his knees and jumped to his feet. "Karai! Wait, please! I-I didn't mean it like that."

"Stay the fuck away from me," she called from deeper in the jungle. Voice weak with fury and exertion.

Leo huffed through his nose and followed. Being sure to keep a safe distance from her, while still keeping her in his sights as much as he could with the dense foliage obscuring his view. Every now and then, when she'd stop to catch her breath or pause to hold her stomach, Leo would tense. Each time this happened, she'd stoop to pick up a large stone which she'd then twist around and launch into the trees, aiming for him despite not exactly knowing where he was. Several missed his head by less than a few inches. And still he followed as closely as he dared, undaunted by her outrage at him, until she found the trail that led to the village and finally erupted from the cover of the bush and he could go no further in the daylight, dim though it was from the approaching storm. He growled in frustration.

He paced in agitation as he watched her waddling form disappear into the line of low-lining homes and beyond that, the throng of tourists, villagers and merchants. Finally, when he could see her no longer, he rested his forehead upon the mossy trunk of the tree he crouched in, closing his eyes. His stomach roiled and ached.

"Dammit, Karai."

He prayed that she'd be okay. That she'd forgive him for trying to protect her the only way he knew how.

* * *

Karai meandered through the path, winding from some of the outlying hut-like homes where stray dogs loped alongside brown children playing ball and women chatted while hanging linens out on long lines to dry. She rested a moment against a stack of crates, catching her breath and waiting for the cramping to subside. That kick had not been a good idea, she realized too late. _Stupid. Stupid. Ugh._ Feeling the wave of nausea crest and ebb. Counting in her mind as the pain receded and fingering the comforting shape of the cell phone in her bag's front pocket. She'd have to call Dr. Tsuneo soon. These pains were getting harder to hide from Leo. Her thighs trembled and she ran a hand over the top of her head, smoothing some of the errant strands of her hair. She pressed the back of one hand to her damp forehead.

"I'm okay," she told herself.

She straightened up and adjusted the bag as a ball rolled up to her and knocked gently against her outer ankle. Two children, a boy and a girl rushed over to her as she stooped and retrieved it. She held it out to them as they stood before her. The boy scowled suspiciously at her, taking the ball without a sound, while the little girl smiled shyly up at her, eying her full stomach.

"You have a baby," she said in a sweet clear voice, speaking Spanish. "You came from the jungle." Karai looked back across the field that separated the boundary of the village from the preserve and then nodded at her.

Karai replied, her memory of the language rusty, but well enough to converse without sounding too foolish, "Yes." She placed a hand on the curve of her belly. "That's correct."

"Boy or girl?"

Karai shook her head. The girl came up closer as her brother continued to scowl at her. The girl put her hand on the bulge of Karai's stomach. Karai pitched forward as the baby rolled, making her knees weak.

The little girl giggled at the strange sensation beneath her palm. "I think boy. Yes. Boy."

The realization that she hadn't thought to point out to Leonardo the baby's movements in all this time hit her with a pang of sharp regret. When it had crossed her mind, she decided against it, thinking it would only further his insane worry. Yet, now, Karai wished she had and made up her mind that as soon as she got back, she would sit down and have Leo feel his child, alive and well within her. The thought of what his face may look like sent a wave of delight through her, making her forget her earlier aggravation at her husband. He worried like an old man. But she could forgive him. She suddenly felt as though she might cry and wiped at her eye, feeling a rush of disgust at her damn hormonal shifts.

Her brother ran off as a woman approached them. "Maria! Leave that woman alone!"

"It's okay," Karai said.

The girl named Maria gave her one last smile and then ran up to her mother and held her hand. She pointed at Karai. "She lives in the jungle and has a baby, Momma."

The woman frowned and looked from Karai to the line of thick trees beyond the village. She turned her head back to Karai. "Not safe for a woman alone in the jungle. You are here with a tourist group?"

"Uh, not exactly. I am with someone, though."

The woman was joined by another, folding a long sheet between her hands. She eyed Karai and spoke something quickly in Maria's mother's ear as she laid the material over one bent arm. The woman nodded and turned back to Karai.

Her voice lowered, "You know of the ghost, then."

Karai blinked and shook her head, at a lost.

"Stay out of the jungle at night."

"Why's that?"

The two women exchanged glances. Maria's mother shrugged. "Something lurks in the jungle. Something dangerous. The ghost. The ghost of the jungle."

Karai could not help but scoff. She composed herself at the women's frown.

"Believe what you want. I've heard it myself. Howling like a demon in heat. It only just began a few nights ago. There's been nothing like it ever before. The men are keeping all the women out from the center of the jungle. That's where it comes from. They say it is the mate of Pachamama, suffering after someone to mate with." She shrugged again. "Silly, yes or no. Whatever it is. It is not natural."

Karai squinted her eyes as she thought about what they were telling her. She'd heard no howling. No ghosts or demons crying out in the night. What could they mean? A panther, some terrible bird of prey new to the preserve? The woman said it only started a few nights ago.

Karai froze. Her eyes widened. No. It couldn't be. Her cheeks flushed as she covered her mouth. It took every ounce of control not to burst out laughing. Oh, this was too perfect. She thanked the women for their kindness and their warnings, and headed to the market at the center of the village. Once out of their earshot, she started giggling so hard, tears came to her eyes. Leonardo was going to die.

"The ghost of the jungle," she said to herself and started to laugh harder.

* * *

Feeling better for her time spent away, Karai lugged her bag full of fried plantains and corn tortillas. She had purchased a beautiful woven lap blanket made by a woman from a Borucan tribe from the southern towns for Leonardo. She had thought he'd enjoy the craftsmanship and detail in the colorful pattern. It wasn't easy for her to apologize and she hoped that the special gift would say to him what her words could not. She'd spent more time in the village than she had planned, either that or the oncoming storm had darkened the afternoon to resemble something closer to twilight. As she stepped into the cooler shade of the tree line, the humidity remained unrelenting. The bag over her shoulder too heavy and she rested her hands upon her knees to steady her suddenly swimming head. A soft thud made her raise her eyes. Leonardo emerged from the brush. Eyes gleaming and stormy with worry.

Without a word, he carefully took the strap and removed it from her shoulder, pulling it up and over her head and throwing it over his own. He wrapped an arm around her waist. She leaned on him and together they moved deeper into the jungle. Above them thunder rumbled, low and stampeding just over their heads, rattling the spider monkeys sitting in the criss-crossing branches who before merely contented themselves with watching the pair meander into their territory in silent wariness. Now they chittered and howled around them. Leaping from branch to branch in agitation. The jungle erupted with noise. The cacophony battered the two as they continued on. And with another eruption of roaring thunder, sounding as if the sky above them were cracking in half, the downpour struck. The vines and leaves shook and swayed from the pummeling rain.

She ducked and cried out, "AH!"

Karai gripped Leo as he immediately stooped and picked her up into his arms, hunching over her, trying to shield her from some of the onslaught.

"I've got you," he said into her ear.

But she cried out again and her grip tightened. His eyes shot sideways to her face, scrunched in apparent discomfort. He continued on, heart pounding, hoping it was only the rain, the exertion, the exhaustion of the long day that had her so uncomfortable. But her fingers dug into the back of his neck and shell and he felt her entire body go rigid and spasm as she groaned until it broke into a whine of pain.

"Karai, what's wrong?" he asked, trying to remain calm; but his voice betrayed his fright as it wavered above the rushing roar of the rain.

She opened her mouth but could only groan again and shudder in his arms.

His eyes widened and he hurried, crashing through the vines, feet stomping over the blanket of soaking leaves and jungle detritus. Each step forward making his chest constrict in terror. Thinking all the time, that he just needed to get her home; where she'd be safe; cursing himself for not being more forceful in keeping her with him at the cave. Wishing all the while that they hadn't fought. That it was his fault that he'd upset her and made her kick him. If anything happened to her . . . or the baby . . . it would be all his fault. His throat tightened, choking him.

"W-We're almost home," he said to her, repeating it as he ran. "Almost. Almost home."

Her face turned to press into his neck and her scream had him staggering to a halt in a field of knee-high waving ferns. The rain pelted them in sheets. She screamed again and he cast around, terrified and lost.

"L-Let me down!" she cried slapping his shoulders.

Immediately he bent, and laid her down, brushing her hair from her face with frantic movements, coming close to her, looming over her to block the rain as much as he could.

"Talk to me, Karai! What's happening? What do I do?"

"Hurts! AHH! Leo!" Her clawing fingers grabbed at his neck and pulled him down to her where she held his face tightly against her chest and neck. She shook and screamed again. Legs kicking through the mud beneath the ferns.

"I don't know what to do!" he cried out, eyes scanning her shaking body, suddenly feeling more helpless than he'd ever been in his life, completely unprepared for this. He wasn't sure, but she'd said the labor would still be weeks away. Was she wrong? Was this labor? And this pain, this agony she was in . . . something was wrong. He felt it. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. Tears blinded him as his heart raced. Reluctantly, he pulled himself out of her arms. He held her hands in both of his. _No, no, please. Please help me. Help me save her! Someone!_

She groaned and writhed and whimpered. With frenzied movements, she waved her fingers at the bag. Frantically, he loped the strap over his shoulder and produced it for her. She closed her eyes and dug around, shaking her head from side to side. Her quaking fingers unzipped a pocket and she fumbled free a cell phone and pressed it into his chest. He took it and looked from it to her and back again.

"_Ahngh!_ Dr. Tsuneo! You have to, _uhnngh_, Leo! Call him. He knows! He knows all about this," she sobbed between gasps.

Leonardo froze at the familiar name. Karai had mentioned him as her family's doctor, the man who attended to her father and her since she was but a child. Linked irrevocably with the Foot Clan. His stomach turned to ice. Her voice shattered his stunned momentary daze.

"_Oh god!_ I . . . I'm sorry, Leo! I'm sor-sorry! I had . . . to tell someone!"

He was shaking his head and nodding and blathering over her apologies, "Shhh, shh, it's okay, it's okay, shh, Karai. I'll call him. You'll be okay, I'll call him. I'll call him."

"Uh," she panted, "Okay. _Unghhh, unk,_ H-He knows what to do!" She nodded and grimaced, mouth hanging open before her teeth clenched again and her head rolled back, hard against the ground as her back arched and she peeled out another anguished cry. Her fingers clawed at his arms, slick with rain; cold with terror.

He was nodding rapidly, holding the phone both his hands, blinking as the rain ran in rivulets over his face. Stinging the back of his neck and head, strumming against his shell and shoulders. He thumbed the phone's surface until the name appeared and he waited with it pressed against his head; one hand continuously brushing her bangs from her forehead, as she writhed and groaned; rocking slightly in a panic as the rain battered them; his wordless noises of comfort being overshadowed by her intermittent barely muffled screams.

Between the terrible bouts of pain, she gasped and wept, pleading with her eyes locked on his for help. Crushing his soul with her anguish and the torment of his incapacity to do anything but hold the phone to his ear and paw feebly at her. Her eyes wild and glassy with pain as he stared forlornly down at her, pupils pin-pricks of fright; breath frozen in his constricting chest. And the distant sound of civilization, the fragile bridge between salvation and devastation, the tiny weak sound so far away in his ears as the phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.


	6. Love Makes Fools of Us All

**Chapter 6 - Love Makes Fools of Us All**

* * *

The view of the Pacific Ocean kept his wife, Aki, glued to the wrap-around porch of their villa's room. Except to explore the tourists' area of Jaco, she hardly left the spot. He teased her as she sat knitting a lace shawl in the wicker seat, nestled into the comfortable cushion.

"You are becoming spoiled little ginger root," Doctor Tsuneo Yuichi said as he placed a kiss upon her head. She smiled and nodded.

"It's about time you spoil me, thirty-nine years of marriage and I have never been outside of Japan," She replied and swatted at him with the blunt end of one knitting needle.

He chuckled and eased himself into the adjacent chair, bones creaking, and gazed past the manicured grounds of the exquisite and private Villa del Ver Sagrado. The fronds of palm trees swayed in the breeze, casting the softly scented ocean air to glide over the old married couple.

He glanced at his wife, a soft smile played along her mouth and he wanted nothing but to lift her into his arms and carry her inside and make love to her as they used to. Maybe it was the lush environment, so rich with romance that fired his desire, but more so the way his wife had seemed so light these past two weeks. Moving from place to place, she drifted on an unseen blanket of gentle joy and it left him feeling a mix of happiness with regret: regret for not having taken the time to give her this sooner. For the years of her devotion and patience with his many excursions and dealings with the Foot Clan, something she was, as far as he knew, unaware of, she deserved this and more. So much more.

Not that he would have ever been able to afford such luxury as this. No. This was all funded through his friend and most prominent patient's daughter, currently in hiding and with good reason: Karai. The troubled daughter of Oroku Saki. The man who was too much like a son to him. The son he'd been denied through natural means. He glanced surreptitiously at Aki. The memories of pregnancies ending abruptly, of the burden and pain the multiple miscarriages had caused for her and how she endured through it all; time and again, trying, for him; to produce a child; it pained him. He dropped his head, closing his eyes for a moment to allow the ache to pass.

After a moment, he looked up again over the tree tops down to the ocean stretching out, azure and reaching into the darkening horizon. Listening to the soothing chorus of insects and birds and above that the gentle roaring of the tides against the beach less than a mile from where they sat. This was nothing compared to the years of love and sacrifice that Aki had given to him. But it was something. Thanks to the situation Karai found herself in, he was able to finally give something back to his beloved.

As Karai had promised him, in the last months of her miraculous and troubling pregnancy she wanted him close but without raising suspicion of her father. So, she arranged this extended vacation on the single condition that his wife's accompaniment would be paid for as well. The woman he'd kept out of Foot Clan affairs; protecting her and shielding her from the truth. Only Saki and his public practice friends knew he'd even been married. So, upon this opportunity, he made it clear. His wife was to accompany him if Karai wanted him to spend three months in Central America, on-call to her alone. In the grand scheme of things, it was a small concession and Karai agreed to it at once.

"I know you tease me, but," she sighed with contentment, "it's so pretty, I can't help but sit here and watch," Aki said and nodded towards the scenery slipping into shadows; the sunset painting a picture of twilight beauty over all the land.

He leaned over and rested his fingertips upon her arm, stilling her knitting for a moment. "I see only loveliness here, right here, which nothing else can compare to."

Her blush was reward enough for his clumsy attempt at romantic words. How long had he last seen her cheeks grow rosy? Sadly, he did not know. Suddenly he rose up. But he knew this: it would not be the last time she blushed on this trip.

She watched him rise with a question in her eyes. Gently he took the knitting from her and set it aside. He took her hands in both of his and helped her to stand.

"Come inside, little ginger root."

Speechless for the desire she felt coming off of him in waves, the rare sight of fire in his eyes, she nodded demurely and allowed him to lead her back into their lavish room.

The buzzing caught his attention immediately as they stepped through the sliding double doors; making his steps falter and any warmth in his body to evaporate instantly; leaving him feeling flushed and chilled.

Aki brought her hand to her mouth; she made a frustrated sound. "_Tch_, here? Now? I thought you were taking leave?" she asked as he hurriedly crossed the room and picked the cell phone up. He adjusted his glasses and peered at the display, already noting with an ice-cold dip in his gut that it was not his main cell phone, but the one dedicated only to receive calls from her. Karai.

_It could be nothing,_ he thought. She was not due for many weeks yet. She may just need reassurance again. The fears of a first time mother were many: the least he could do was offer her a modicum of reassurance. The poor girl had really gotten herself into a terrible situation full of unknowns; even for an experienced doctor as himself, who had seen his share of bizarre injuries and ailments with his dealings with the Foot Clan.

And yet, something nagged at him. Some extra sensory perception that he'd also gained over the years of treating his young patient, Oroku Saki, tingled and dogged him. Spurring a feeling of unease and dread in the center of his stomach as though he'd eaten some tainted fish; just bad enough to poison, yet not quite enough to kill.

"What could they want from you? You are thousands of miles away," Aki complained and hugged herself tightly. "Can they not contact the doctor on call?"

With a glance to his obviously stricken wife, he held up one palm to silence her. He pressed the screen and lifted it to his face as he spoke into the phone.

"Yes? Hello?"

A voice he did not recognize, blurred by poor reception and background noise that sounded like a monsoon, repeatedly asked if this was Dr. Tsuneo. The voice was young sounding and male. Not Karai. Not even close. The hair on the back of his neck rose up as the dread fear that Venom had somehow tracked her and discovered her location gripped him.

"Who is this?"

"Tsuneo," Aki pleaded. "Hang up."

He frowned deeply and waved his hand impatiently at her to be quiet. She huffed and stormed into their bedroom. He watched her go with a surge of regret, but the static-disrupted voice insistently cried out from the phone's receiver, bringing his attention back to the matter at hand. Over the buzzing background interference the panic in the boy's voice was frighteningly clear. Not one of Venom's. No. It couldn't be. Why would they be calling in such obvious distress? No. Certainly not. Then, who? He moved it back to the side of his head and hurried into the adjoining room, covering one hand over his opposite ear and listening hard.

"Who is this? How did you get this number?"

"Doctor Tsuneo?" the voice rose, breaking and cracking like a young adolescent's, "Karai. It's Karai. She needs you."

"Yes, yes, I understand," he nodded rapidly and dashed into the closet to retrieve his doctor's bag and the emergency suitcase he'd packed for his friend's daughter. "But who is this?"

"I am," he paused and Tsuneo straightened as the sound of a woman screaming brought his heart to a stop.

"You are he," Tsuneo murmured, thinking of the mutant boy that Karai had somehow gotten involved with, impossible and reckless as it seemed; the one that had disrupted all that his friend had worked for all his life. A moment of anger had him bringing the phone away from his head to stare at the screen in his shaking palm. But it passed as swiftly as it came. He dropped his arm and felt his chest deflate as he exhaled. There was nothing for it. She loved this creature. Beyond all logic and reason. He glanced at the closed bedroom door and sighed. But that was the very nature of love. Wasn't it?

_We are all at its mercy. And of that, it has none to give_, he thought morosely.

He lifted the phone and thumbed the sequence to locate the caller immediately while still remaining connected. He brought the cell back to his face as he tugged the luggage free from the front closet. "I am coming. Keep her safe. Do nothing until I arrive. But keep her safe," he insisted but received no reply.

His eyes darted about the room, assessing all that he needed to bring, thinking, mind spinning, whirling with what he needed to do. Saki. Did he call him? Should he? Karai was implicit in her orders to keep him out of this entire situation. And yet. He was her father. And she his only daughter. It was more than his life at stake here should something go wrong. He would be executed, no doubt. But that mattered little to him at this moment. Saki was like a son to him. And Karai like a granddaughter. He loved them both, fool that he was. And his heart stumbled in the terror of losing this girl. This wild and fiercely determined girl. A granddaughter he would have been proud to call his own. He could not lose her. He had to move!

He swore loudly in Japanese just as Aki reentered the room. She gave him a baleful look and swept back into their bedroom, slamming the door. He took several steps in that direction but stalled as Karai's wailing froze him in his tracks. Her cries seemed to intensify above the muffled static and background noise.

He stared mutely at the phone as it beeped cheerily with her location. Corcovado National Park. He'd be there in less than twenty minutes. Her scream came again and the young man's voice trying to soothe her overtook it. He was frightened. Stupid child. Stupid children, all of them.

But Karai. His eyes burned as he unlocked the front door of their villa and hurried down the path towards the main house; medical bag under one arm, dragging the suitcase along besides him. His heart raced. Something was wrong. And damn it all, he knew this might happen. That's why he tried to insist that she stay at any of the private health clinics available to her; but she had refused. There was too much at stake. With the Foot Clan still in chaos and Venom's soldiers infiltrating even the most secret of bases, there was no where she felt safe. Nowhere but with him. The father of this unnatural offspring.

"Stubborn, stupid girl," he growled and pulled open the door, dashing across the polished marble to the service desk. He slammed one palm down. "I need a car immediately!"

The clerk, astonished and blinking, set to calling for a car. He whirled and marched out of the lobby as he spoke harshly into the cell.

"Listen to me! Are you there? Twenty minutes. Keep her safe. Do you hear me?"

He ran a trembling hand through his thinning hair. Counting in his mind. Calculating. It was too early. These were not the sounds of a woman in labor but someone suffering needlessly. He wished he'd thought to send her with something to dull the pain in this circumstance but the foolish, head-strong girl would not listen to reason. She screamed again and Tsuneo lost his composure. He took in a deep breath.

"Do you hear me, boy!?" he hollered.

A desperate voice filled the phone, "Yes," he gasped. "Yes, but hurry! Please, hurry. I don't know what to," the voice was interrupted by a fresh wave of static and Tsuneo felt the young man's anguish as if it were his own.

The car pulled up and a young black man gathered his bags and tossed them into the trunk. "There is a private landing strip, four miles south of here."

He answered with a thick accent, "Yes, of course, sir. The one you arrived at?"

Tsuneo nodded. The man pulled away. "Please, as fast as possible. There is an emergency."

# # #

Leonardo hollered into the phone, but realized with a twist in his stomach that the connection had died. Fright of the kind he'd never known before gripped him. He gathered Karai up in his arms as he dropped the phone. Murmuring into her hair, "He's coming, Karai. Twenty minutes." He felt her body, rigid with pain, spasm and shake in his arms. His eyes burned with tears, and they flooded his eyes and ran down the sides of his face to mingle with the rain. The downpour had eased from when she'd first collapsed. The ferns in the glen waved and steamed as the rain turned to misting. He felt her tense. Felt her teeth pinch into the thick carotene of his plastron covered chest. She shook her head with the next pained wail. Her fingers clawing and balling into fists as she quaked.

And Leo's eyes darted around, looking for something, anything to help, seeing nothing. "Shh, I've got you," he said helplessly, knowing there was nothing more he could do. His helplessness was a mountain crushing him; smothering him. "Karai," he started and licked his lips, tasting the sweet water of the rain still lingering on his flesh, "remember the days after you found me, here? All the night sounds that kept you up. You couldn't sleep that entire night. But we watched the stars falling. That night, remember? There was a meteor, or a comet, or-or something, but we stayed up all night watching. R-Remember how you jumped when the baby tapir ran out in front of you that morning?"

He felt her soften slightly in his arms. She shifted a little and he looked down into her tear-streaked face. She was pale and dark circles marred the space beneath her eyes making her look exhausted and spent. Frail. A spike of fear went through him. His Karai was never frail. A surge of protectiveness swept through him.

"I-I . . . thought it-it was a g-giant rat," she panted, making him still. "Th-Thought Splinter f-found us. Thought h-he'd come to-to break us up."

"I wouldn't let that happen," he replied instantly with a grave seriousness. Eyes intense. "Never, Karai. You are my wife. You are everything to me. Nothing will ever come between us again. I swear to you. I swear."

"Always making v-vows," she said as her breath hitched. Her fingertips slipped along the side of his face, brief and barely with enough strength for him to even feel them. Like the wings of a butterfly against his skin. "My brave poet."

And something half-way between a grimace and a smile spread across her face; it dropped away and she frowned, grasping at him with clawing fingers as another spasm ripped through her. She closed her eyes and bit back another scream. It strangled back into a gurgling, groaning sound. Leo clutched her to himself, both afraid to hold her too tightly, and afraid that if he didn't hold her tightly enough she may slip through his arms.

"You're the one that's brave, Karai." He dropped his face into her neck as she held on to him, trembling with the effort of pulling him close. The pain seemed to lessen and he eased back, pressing several gentle kisses to her temple and cheek. "It's okay. I promise. I'll protect you. I won't let anything happen to you, Karai. Karai?"

Panicked, he pulled back a bit more and searched her face, ghostly white in the shadows. Her eyes stood out luminous and deep.

"I know," she said and for a moment, her face was calm, serene. Lovely.

He bent and pressed his lips to hers. "I love you, Karai. I love you," he blurted and the sound of a helicopter had him twisting. He looked at her; a manic glint in his eye. "They're here, Karai! Your doctor. He's going to help you. Y-You're going to be okay."

Karai offered him the closest thing to a smile she could manage and nodded rapidly. "You can trust him, Leo," she choked out.

The ferns swayed violently as the helicopter hovered. Leo turned his shell to cover Karai as well as he could manage as twigs and debris struck them from the turbulence of the copter's propeller. The noise was deafening, but he could feel the vibration running through Karai as she screamed again. Feeling her pain within himself as though it were originating from inside of his body and somehow transferring to her; making him wish with all his might that he could cut the offending source from himself and burn it to ash.

Gladly sacrificing whatever piece of him that had done this to her. But knowing it would be his heart that would burn. Because this was all due to the love he dared stoke inside that offending organ. And because of that, they were both bound to suffer.

The helicopter landed and an aged man leaped down, motioning for him to hurry to bring her inside. He looked from the man to Karai, who with one glance nodded vigorously.

"Oh god, Leo. It's him," she wheezed out and it almost sounded as if she were laughing. The spark of relief and hope in her eyes enough to have Leo jumping to his feet; ducking and carrying her to the side door where the old man awaited. As he rushed to the copter, he noticed the crimson stain between her legs and his stomach rolled and lurched; clenching with terror and anguish.

He stared at Leo for a long moment with circles for eyes. He composed himself. Then, glancing down, giving Karai a once over, he said, "Get her inside. We have a secret location. A clinic set up."

Karai grasped at Leo's neck as he tried to set her down. "N-No! No! You have to come too!" she started and her voice rose to hysterics.

Leo wasted not a second. He clambered into the cramped space, wide eyes darting around at the gathered Foot soldiers squatting shoulder to shoulder. In full uniform, masks and weapons and all. His throat closed but he knelt next to Karai, wrapping one arm over and around her protectively, as she held on to his forearm for dear life with both hands.

Behind him, Tsuneo climbed inside. He patted the pilot's shoulder roughly. "Let's go!"

The pilot nodded, face obscured by a helmet. A woman's voice, slightly accented, answered, "As you command, dear Doctor."

* * *

**A/N:** I appreciate your patience as I work on completing my NaNoWriMo 2014 challenge! If you don't know, aside from school, work and general Mom stuff, I'm also going for the National Novel Writing Month challenge to write a 50,000 word rough draft novel between Nov. 1st and the 30rd! It's CRAZY. But I'm right on target. So far, so good. But! That does mean my FF updates will come slower than you may be used to from me. I hope you don't mind and bear with me. I swear it'll be worth your wait!

Everyone who's stuck with me, who's read and reviewed or sent me PMs on the side, I just want you to know that each and every one of you inspire me to keep writing. My stuff isn't perfect, and some of it may not be for some readers, and that's okay. I just want to thank you for giving it a shot and putting up with my mistakes as well as my triumphs. You are the reason I write. You are the reason I post.

And I just am so very grateful to you all. Yep, even you sitting there, I see you, the one who reads but is afraid to comment, thinking maybe, that you don't know what to say. Well, I appreciate you, too! *TACKLE HUG* XD

I swear I will get the next update out asap! Remember, too, I have other fics that I'm updating along the way as well! Be sure to check them out if you haven't and let me know what you think!

xo


	7. Gravity

**Chapter 7 - Gravity**

* * *

Doctor Tsuneo frowned at the odd reply by the co-pilot, but had no time to process what the flippant comment might mean. He focused on taking Karai's vitals. Her rapid heartbeat drummed beneath his fingertips where he pressed them at her throat and wrist. He murmured questions, firing them rapidly without seeming to actually hear her replies, which were given through gritted teeth while his hands fluttered from her throat to her wrist to the black bag at his side. He rummaged within it, producing a stethoscope.

Leonardo sat back on his heels, but still hovering just over her supine form, wiping the sweat from his chin with one shoulder and doing his best to remain calm. His hands were wrapped around Karai's left, covering it and squeezing now and then to offer the limited amount of comfort he could. His eyes darted from the scissors in the doctor's hands to the men surrounding him. Calculating. There were six, no, seven. Not counting the pilot and the co-pilot. There were no weapons where he could see them, but that meant nothing. Karai's fingers clawed at his hand and he snapped back to focusing on her.

"It's," she panted, "okay. They're . . . with us. Trust -"

He nodded rapidly, trying to put a reassuring expression on his face to hide the fear and doubt. "Shh, don't speak," he said under his breath to her, leaning closer on his knees.

She jerked suddenly and gasped. Karai writhed on the platform, throwing her head back as Tsuneo cut through the clothing. Leonardo stiffened and his face shot to the doctor then to her pant leg where he was cutting through with the scissors. A strangled cry broke from her throat and Leonardo jumped, frightened that the doctor had hurt her. But then he saw the spreading dampness. The dark color of it. Smelled the coppery ozone of the blood. It took everything he had not to cry out in mingled terror for his wife's suffering and his own.

"Please," he whispered through his teeth, under his breath, staring at Tsuneo; a plea, desperate and sincere. "Help her. Please."

Dr. Tsuneo's bloodshot eyes rose, a flash of something like cold rage behind the circular glasses. "I will do what I can," Tsuneo bit out. His eyes bore into Leonardo's; full of recrimination; hatred. The doctor's voice harsh and remindful of another authority figure to which he'd bend his knee to and break his back to obey, whatever the cost. Communicating that which Leonardo did not need to hear, for he understood it better than anyone. Felt the weight of it more keenly.

"You," he spat, "are responsible for this."

Leonardo nodded briefly, choking on his guilt. Owning his culpability. Ready to accept the cost of his fool's actions. Willing to pay anything, anything at all, but her life.

"For whatever comes of it." Tsuneo, one hand poised atop Karai's head, the other upon her heaving stomach, round with his unborn child. "And if anything happens to her as a result," he took a short breath and hissed, "I will see to it myself that you regret ever meeting her."

There was a weighted shift behind him and Leonardo tensed. Eyes wide. Alert.

As Karai's voice, ringing with pain, cut through the repeating whoosh of the rotors, the grinding thrum of the engine, Leo was suddenly attacked; grabbed from behind. Toned arms wove under his shoulders, around his neck. His struggling and growls were drowned out by another of Karai's pitched groans. Unable to stop due to the cramped space, his knees slid and knocked into her as he struggled. She moaned. He fell still instantly, despite his instincts roaring inside him to fight back. To get free. He remained frozen, chest heaving as he panted from the struggle to restrain himself; muscles coiled; veins extended from his panic and fury.

Tsuneo straightened up, shocked as his eyes shot around at the soldiers. "Men, stand down. I gave no order to constrain him! Release him, now!" When the men ignored his orders, the doctor glanced about and shouted, "Do as I say! You are Foot! Who do you obey?"

The co-pilot of the copter twisted in her seat. The visor obscured the top-half of her face, gleaming and giving her an insect-like appearance. Her mouth was a smiling slit of red. Teeth, white and perfectly aligned, flashed as she said, "That would be me."

Tsuneo's face darted from the woman who spoke to Leonardo to Karai and back again. The color drained from his face. But his mouth became a hard line. A tic jumped in one cheek beneath his eye. The engine rumbled and the rotors spun as the tense tableau held.

Tsuneo ground out, "My men . . . they were hand-picked . . . how?"

"Oh, I think you know the answer to that, dear doctor." She grinned her alien smile, slick and ugly and continued, "In a word: Infiltration. To take apart an organization, the most efficient way to disassemble is to work from the inside out. The more we integrated into your clan – still such an easy thing to do since word got out about Karai and this creature - the more intelligence we gained." She shrugged, "It was only a matter of time before someone led us to our prize."

Her head tipped slightly towards Karai, panting and laying between him and the terrified and furious creature held back by three men. Karai's head moved from side to side, but she was too withdrawn into her own personal world of pain to realize that something was going wrong around her. Leonardo glowered at the woman next to the pilot. He shook his shoulders, trying to get some leverage, but the men held him in place. A deep growl issued from the back of his throat as his lip curled up and back.

"Sophia Brokker," Doctor Tsuneo breathed out, sounding more defeated than he intended. Daughter of Johann Courser, head of Venom. Elder sister to Marcus Brokker, the young man that Saki had sent into a life of sex slave because he'd wronged Karai when she was a teenager. The seeds of revenge sown so diligently supplied them all with an extended harvest.

The woman chuckled, but kept her attention trained on Tsuneo. "Don't look so surprised, Dr. Tsuneo. We've known of your connection to the Oroku family for a long time. When you took your leave, we were quite intrigued. With Oroku Saki in New York, it could only mean one thing." Her grin widened and became predatory. "The trusted family doctor can only be so far from his exclusive patients, after all."

Time slowed. He closed his eyes as his stomach clenched. He'd led them straight to Karai. And the Shredder had no idea of where she was. He cursed himself for not confiding the situation to his superior. He'd been foolish and naïve. The doctor's temples tickled with tendrils of sweat working down the sides of his face. His heartbeat crashed against his ribs in a slow painful burst. They had him. They'd had him all along. All the tedious effort at concealing his tracks. Of his involvement with the Foot. It had all been an illusion after all. His eyes opened. He blinked as tears welled.

Karai reached up for him and he took her hand. Her eyes were shut tight and she grimaced. He shushed her, gently.

The woman pressed an earpiece, "Yes," she said. Her voice lit with a delighted tone, "The operation was a success. We have our girl. And there's quite an added bonus, dear." She paused and hung one arm over the back of the seat. "Oh no, I'm not going to spoil it. I want to see your face when you find out. Oh," she added, "And we've got one of Saki's mutants, too. Have Carlisle ready the recruitment cell for special cases."

She paused, taking a quick breath. "No," her lips turned down. She turned around to sit fully in her seat. "I'm not trying to tell you how to . . . yes, I know. The entire program is your idea. And it's a wonderful, _lucrative_ . . . I'm sorry, Marcus. Of course you are. Always." She nodded. "Yes. You can do it yourself if you would like. But I think you may want to see the surprise first. He'd fetch a high price if what I suspect he's capable of is true and I have a feeling I'm not wrong."

She said something to the pilot and turned to speak to Dr. Tsuneo over her shoulder. "Your services will no longer be needed, dear doctor."

He tuned her out as one of the men crept closer. All the sounds muted and faded into the roar of his blood rushing in his ears. He didn't need to hear the words to know she'd just ordered his execution. From the corner of his vision, he saw the mutant boy struggling.

Doctor Tsuneo's eyes blurred. He thought of his precious Aki. His ginger root. Of her waiting in the luxurious suite for him. Of the rushed goodbye, or rather, the complete lack of parting words. Knowing what he faced; that this may be his last stand. To fight for the man who was like a son to him, to protect and do what he could to rescue the man's daughter. The foolish, stubborn girl who was like a granddaughter to him. It would cost him his life, no doubt. His hand upon his thigh shook and he balled it into a fist. Feeling the tendons stretch, the muscles knit and bunch between the delicate bones. Fear stung the back of his eyes, but he blinked the temptation to despair away.

There was no time for regret. For bitterness. There was no time to wish for things that were not ever meant to be. He'd made this life. He'd committed himself to his ideals; loyalty to a person who, he felt, needed more than anything else, the steadfast support of an elder figure who would not judge him; only love unconditionally. And to his death he would defend them, if no one else in all the world would.

He would defend his family.

Tsuneo moved in a blur of motion, turning to one side to strike the ninja nearest him with the heel of his hand; knocking the man backwards into the wall. A short blade clattered and skittered to fall from the opening just behind the doctor. Spinning as it descended into the thick canopy below.

His elbow snapped back, striking the oncoming attacker behind him in the chest. He wheeled around and jabbed his knuckles into the soldier's throat as the man rallied and moved to grab him. The ninja sputtered and reached for his neck as he tumbled over Karai and rolled to the back of the pilots' seats.

Karai took the impact of his body. She writhed and screamed, her cries muffling to a string of curse words with a broken gasp as she twisted from one side to another.

Leo started at the sound of her distress. With a burst of adrenaline, he braced his splayed thighs and lurched hard to the side. The force causing the ninja holding his right arm to flip around and crash into the man at his left. Another grabbed his arm just as he'd liberated it; yanking him back even as the man behind him tightened his grip across Leo's windpipe. He released a strangled growl and thrashed in their grasp. He unfolded one leg and kicked up and out at the solider who scrambled over Karai's feet, coming straight at him.

The Foot soldier fell back. Karai's heel lashed out. It knocked his head hard in the temple, making him slump to the rear of the interior in a crumpled pile just past Tsuneo wrestling with a ninja near her feet. Her face, pale and dripping with perspiration, shot up over one shoulder.

"Ha! Take that, _Fucker_!"

But her triumph was short-lived. She shuddered suddenly. She groaned and held her stomach, rolling to one side. She slumped and laid still.

"Karai!" Leo screamed, voice strained from the chokehold on him. "_Karai!"_

He thrashed with renewed vigor. Straining and struggling against the three soldiers. The silver gleam of a blade appeared before his blurred vision. He snarled and snapped his jaws like a raging animal. His only impulse to get to his wife, laying so silent and frightfully still only inches away from his reach. He barely felt the blows to his head and chest, legs and face. Eyes trained on Karai who remained unmoving despite the disjointed, fierce battle raging around her. He threw his head back and connected with the ninja's face. He heard a crack and a gurgle and one less set of arms held him. The blade was at his throat, biting into the delicate flesh.

"Do not kill the mutant!" Sophia hollered over the back of the seat. "We want the girl and mutant alive! Kill the old man!"

Opposite from them, Tsuneo dodged a fist, knocking it away as he blocked. He ducked as the solider came at him again. With a few jabs, Tsuneo struck at the man, but he was too slow and the young man too quick. The blows were deflected smoothly. Tsuneo's breath came in broken pants as his chest tightened. Adrenaline rushed through his system, but was quickly waning. He was not the young fighter he once was. He dipped aside and felt the clip of the soldier's blow along his jaw. Stars exploded in his vision. He struck out and fortune graced him with a direct blow. The ninja stumbled back and tripped over the black physician's bag. He tumbled out the open door of the side of the helicopter, making no sound as he vanished into the canopy below.

Tsuneo lunged forward. Taking his advantage.

He grabbed at Sophia's helmet and shoulders. Tugging her head back at an angle, attempting to break her neck. She snarled and her fingers shot out, clawing towards his face. He lurched back, but not far enough, not fast enough. His glasses were knocked from his face. A set of deep parallel lines of red bled between his eyes and down his left cheek. His left eye flooded with blood. A pain like a bolt of bright agony ripped through the tattered socket. He reeled and gripped the pilot's seat with fumbling fingers as he tried to compose himself past the throbbing pain.

The helicopter dipped suddenly. Tsuneo's hold on the seat slipped. He held his face and felt the blood mingling with the fluids of his ruined eye. He twisted to grope for his bag.

As Tsuneo turned, Sophia scrambled over the back of her seat, lunging into the old man's back. Knocking him forward with one shoulder. His body tumbled over Karai's head in a sloppy somersault. He skittered to the edge. Wind whipped at the thin strands of hair on his head. His hands sought something to hold onto as Sophia loomed suddenly above him.

"Goodbye, dear doctor."

She kicked him, striking his jaw. His head snapped back. His hands released their hold. He teetered only a second before gravity swept him from the edge of the helicopter's cabin. Launching him into the blue void between Heaven and Earth.

* * *

**A/N: **Hiya readers! Hope you all had a wonderful holiday season and wish you all the best in the new year! Woo!

Hopefully, I can get back to updating my stories on a more regular (and frequent) basis now that the craziness is behind me. I'm starting my practicum (like an internship) this week, so I'm adding a few hours to my work-week - but it shouldn't be too bad as far as cutting into my writing time.

Gosh - It just feels so great to have gotten this chapter done and posted. Fight scenes are not something that I'm terribly comfortable with, so I hope it turned out okay. Big things are coming in this story and so I thank you all for your patience and kind support in sticking with it and with me!

xo


	8. Burning Out

_"Can we go on, _

_like it once was?"_ \- The Head and the Heart, _Another Story_

* * *

**Chapter 8 – Burning Out**

* * *

April balanced the breakfast tray carefully between her hands. The previous evening had not ended on a high note with Donatello spending the bulk of the rest of it explaining to his boss, Douglas, about the irate customer. By the time he'd clarified, apologized and groveled to the extent that satisfied the egotistical creep, Donnie had crawled off to bed, and she'd fallen asleep on the couch. She woke with a stiff neck and disappointment laying on her stomach like a slime-covered stone. Their rain check for romance would have to wait.

She wobbled as she stepped into the dimly lit room and slid the rice-paper door partially closed with her elbow behind her. Glancing around, she noted that several candles had burned down to misshaped nubs of gnarled wax. They'd need to be replaced. As soon as possible. She added it to the growing list of menial chores that had fallen to her to attend to around the lair.

Splinter didn't like his room too dark. Had wished to be surrounded by the amber glow at all times. Even while he slept.

She wondered what it was in those shadows that frightened him. Perhaps it was merely his mortality weighing upon him. The inevitable closing around him; the shadows where once he took solace, now held terror. Or could it be his worry for Leonardo's well-being.

But of course, he'd brought _that_ upon himself.

Brushing away the poisoned-tipped thought, she walked carefully across the room, balancing a bowl and several other bottles on the tray. Her face blank, she knelt before his cot. She set the bowl of steaming noodles upon the low table situated in front Master Splinter's bed. She gave him a weak smile as she laid out the napkin and spoon. His back was to her as he lay curled like a child beneath a worn blanket.

"Breakfast, Sensei," she said.

His twitching nose rose over his shoulder at the sound of her setting the bowl down. He stiffened slightly at the sound of her voice. He shifted to one side and yanked the blanket from his torso. Rolling with a hissing intake of breath and a grunt. Pausing, he mumbled something.

She couldn't make it out, but the tone implied displeasure. Sweetly, she asked, "What was that?"

He ignored her. Said nothing else as he pushed the blanket away, kicking at it meekly with swollen feet. His body had become narrow, fur matted in thinning tufts, with sharp-edged joints which were once rounded and softened by thick fur.

His deteriorating heart condition, which Donatello feared was perhaps a form of cardiomyopathy, had reduced the once intimidating figure to a shrunken form. His robe hung in loose folds over his thin frame and his eyes were red-rimmed, mapped with pink lines with the occasional splotch of a burst blood vessel from his violent coughing. The ninja master struggled a moment longer with the blanket.

Pity swept through her, carving away her irritation; leaving only compassion in its wake. But she fought the urge to assist him. He would not appreciate the gesture and merely add it to the list of grudges he kept against her. She folded her hands and gave him the time he needed to get himself situated.

Finally sitting up, he huffed in what seemed satisfaction, but then leaned over the edge of the cot; bracing himself with one hand. He eyed the proffered bowl with a frown, whiskers trembling as his nose twitched. His heavily bagged eyes rolled up to peer at her over the dissipating steam cloud.

"It's Undon," she said, keeping her tone light. "I figured you could use a break from the usual chicken soup."

He cocked a brow at her. "Undon?" he questioned.

"W-Well I . . . I had to use spaghetti noodles. Er, and canned beef broth. I couldn't get to the market this week," she explained, "Finals coming up."

He sniffed in derision.

She cleared her throat as she took a bottle of soy sauce from the tray; keeping her attention off the disapproving/disgusted expression on his face. Getting up extra early that morning, she'd decided to try, once again, to smooth things between her and the aging rat by making him this soup.

It wasn't perfect, but she did her best, considering. Especially when she'd found the cabinets in the lair more than a little bare. The four of them had been going through the stores she'd managed to supply at a rapid pace. As soon as she filled them, it seemed, the boys would eat through it all. It was as if they were teens all over again: voracious.

But it wasn't only that money was tight, between school and rent, and the menial amounts that Mikey and Donatello were able to pool together from the work they were doing. She was managing. As well as she could. The constant commuting, the running to and from the grocery stores and traveling around to different pharmacies for the meds, it was all wearing her down.

Then there was the stress. A whole other world of frustration. Not only what she had to deal with between work deadlines and school, but trying to maintain what could be considered a healthy relationship with a mutant who had to keep his existence a secret was hard enough; let alone one that was under his own amount of pressure. And his father pretty much despised her for the fact of her involvement with his son.

April sighed.

She hadn't expected Splinter to be thrilled by the gesture. Though a little gratitude would have been nice. A grain of it, really. A smidge. Her hand gripped the soy sauce bottle. Trying to set it down gently, it hit the surface of the table with a little more force than she'd meant as she set it next to his bowl.

"Something troubling you?" he asked, voice thin and strained.

His feet, looking painfully swollen, swung around and using his hands, he tucked them – one at a time - beneath him with a grunt of effort. He settled himself and leveled a look at her. When she didn't answer him, he huffed.

"Perhaps you should get home to . . . work on your schoolwork, then," he suggested with a limp wave of one bony hand.

Ignoring the dismissal, she rubbed her hands on her thighs. Forcing herself to remain pleasant. She would play the obedient daughter-in-law if it made things easier for Donatello.

She blinked.

Not that they were . . . even close to anything like-like _that_. She wasn't sure he'd even . . . or that she would really want . . . that is . . . she'd never really considered anything . . . official. How would that even work? Would Splinter give his blessing? She frowned.

_Why am I even thinking about this now?_

Her face flushed. Glancing down at the breakfast laid out for him, she remembered his drink. She twisted and picked up the tumbler, fingering the edge of the glass. She placed a glass of water from the tray next to the soy sauce, much more gently.

She said, "If you need anything else, just let me know. I'll be here." She gave him a tentative smile. "The next few days I have off from school. So, I took time off from work. I thought I'd stick around the lair and help out."

He looked up sharply at that. "Eh?" He stared at her for a moment and asked, "Where is my son?"

She froze in the midst of getting to her feet. She sat back down onto her heels. She gave him a questioning look, narrowing her eyes as she studied him. Her head tipped slightly to one side. Studying him with a plain expression of deep concern.

He shifted, irritated the longer she looked at him. "Donatello! My son, Donatello!" he finally barked, rocking in place and rubbing his knees. "You know who I am asking for. I am not as senile as you might suppose."

"Oh," she nodded. A sharp ping of contriteness hit her for provoking the old rat. It was childish. And uncalled for – but still, there was a curl of satisfaction beneath the shame. "He's busy."

"Or _hope_," Splinter added to his statement under his breath. Then, tipping his head aside, asked, "Doing what?"

She rolled back her anger at his sharp, suspicious tone. But felt the edges of her patience fraying.

"Well, let's see, I think he's," she crossed her arms and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. "Where could he be? At a party? No . . . hmmm." Her face brightened. "Oh yes, now I remember!" She slapped her hands together in mock delight. "He's working," she said flatly. "What else does he ever do? I don't even remember the last time he came to my apartment."

That earned her a derisive sniff. A faint sneer as he shook his head.

She bit back the stinging retort. Feeling her eyes burn and the all-too familiar hurt at his disapproving stance on her relationship with Donatello.

But fighting with Donatello's aging, sickly father would not help anything. _Keep it together, O'Neil_, she reminded herself. Taking in a steady breath and speaking a bit more gently, "Master Splinter, where else would he be? He wouldn't go anywhere without telling you."

"I want to see him."

In spite of her best effort, her temper flared. "He's _busy_."

"Tell him to come to me at once," Splinter said as he pointed to the floor.

April stood up swiftly. Coolly, she replied, "As soon as he has a moment, I'll let him know."

"Tell him I want to see him, immediately," Splinter insisted, voice rising. "Immediately!"

She studied him and then dipped her chin.

Splinter's chest heaved, nostrils flaring, but blinking rapidly, he nodded at her seeming acquiescence. He glanced down at the cooling soup. "I need my sons. I . . . I need my –"

Just then Donatello poked his head into the room. "Everything okay in here? I thought I heard, uh, something."

April started, glancing over her shoulder. If he seemed initially shocked at April's presence in the room, he covered it smoothly with an inquisitive expression.

April closed her eyes and counted to five before composing her expression into something like placid civility. She twisted around to face him. Dark circles were apparent beneath the eye holes of his mask. His face looked drawn. Exhausted.

Suddenly, April regretted ever getting off the couch this morning.

"Everything is fine, Donnie. I've got this." She kept her voice light, but felt her cheeks burning with shame and remorse. The last thing she wanted to do was cause more stress for him.

"My son," Splinter started, speaking over April, "Come here. I wish to see you. I wish to speak to you."

Donatello, noting the aggravated and guilty look on his lover's face, but unable to discern the exact cause, stepped fully into his father's room. He pulled the headset off the top of his head and worked it nervously back and forth between two hands.

"Everything . . . oh-kay?" he asked in an undertone as he approached. "I was just logging on when I thought I heard, uh, yelling."

What was she even doing in here? His eyes darted from his sensei to April. Mid-step, he spotted the breakfast tray and halted. _Oh. Oh, April. How many times have I asked you to keep your distance? _His brow furrowed and he shot her a sidelong look. Irritated.

For a moment, her eyes widened in offense at his glare. Then, her expression hardened. She crossed her arms. Dropped her chin to her chest.

She nodded, "Oh, yeah. Just serving Splinter his breakfast. So, yeah. Everything is peachy." She moved aside as he reached nearer to Splinter, but moved towards her a step. She put up one hand and stepped back. Keeping an arm's distance between them.

"My son," Splinter reached out for him and Donatello snapped his attention back to his father.

"Y-Yes, Master Splinter, what is it? Have you taken your morning pills, yet?"

Splinter opened his mouth to speak, but shooting a glance at April hesitated. He brushed the air in her direction. "You may go now, Ms. O'Neil."

"Oh, that's okay. It's no bother."

"April, did you give Sensei his pills?"

She opened her mouth but before she could answer, Splinter interrupted.

Face darkening, he said, "I wish to speak to my son about private matters. I wish for us to be alone, Ms. O'Neil. Grant me this small request."

She stared at him for several beats as the room filled with an awkward silence.

Donatello kept his gaze strategically concentrated on the space between the shelves full of medication and his father's cot. He wished that April had not gone into his father's room. She knew Mikey handled the meals. And he'd been clear that if she cared about his sanity, she would keep her presence in the lair from Splinter as much as possible. It just made things . . . easier.

_Why did she do this to me? Aren't I under enough pressure?_

Waiting for April to exit the room, Splinter picked up the spoon and dragged it through the soup. Tendrils of steam rose into puffs and split.

"Fine. I'll be right outside if you need anything else," she said as she dropped her arms to her sides.

"Go home to your studies," Splinter sneered the last word, eyes on the steaming puffs.

April pulled in a long slow breath, noted that Donatello remained statuesque; standing rigidly and keeping his gaze from either of them. A bolt of anger went through her.

Unable to help herself, sneering a bit herself, she said, "Like I said, I have the next few days off. And I think I'm going to stick around the lair . . . see if Donatello needs anything-"

Splinter shoved the spoon into the bowl with a hand that shook. He stared up at her. "My son needs no assistance. Go _home_."

"Actually, no, I think I'll stay," she said as she took a step back, planting her heel firmly. Hands in fists.

"Ms. O'Neil," Splinter started and his eyes flashed. For a moment he was his old, intimidating self.

It only served to deepen her stubbornness. She pointed a thumb over her shoulder. "I planned on spending the next few nights here, anyway."

Splinter's posture deflated. The fierce light in his eyes dimmed.

And she couldn't help but revel in the vindictive pleasure of adding, knowing that they'd kept their relations as secretive as possible to avoid adding any further stress to an already pressurized situation, "I usually do on the weekends anyway. It just makes things easier to sleep over."

There was an incremental hitch and then a drop in Donatello's shoulders that she caught from the corner of her eye. As if he'd been jabbed with an invisible, but no less painful, needle. Shame fluttered her eyelids and she chewed her tongue as she swept her gaze to one side. Suddenly, her stomach felt as if she'd just swallowed a bag of marbles.

_Well, he was going to find out sooner or later_, she thought, feeling lame and like a naughty child that had just been scolded.

Splinter looked to one side; jaw working. His fingers dug into his knees; kneading them spasmodically. His chin tucked inwards towards his chest and his head bobbed. He blinked furiously as if something had gotten caught in his eyes.

"So, that is how you have been running my home in Leonardo's absence," he said, voice low and spoken in a hiss between clenched teeth.

Donatello turned his head aside. In a voice tight with anger, clipped and frigid, he said to the floor, addressing her, "Give my father and I some privacy."

Splinter closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. The noise wheezing slightly when it suddenly broke into a series of soft, dry coughs, muffled by one curled fist.

April softened in her stance. She moved a step forward, reaching out slightly to Donatello. He kept his shell to her.

"Donnie," she started.

He glared at her from the corner of his eyes, the flat, cold stare told her the depth of his fury and disappointment.

She hesitated only a moment before she relented. _Fine_. She spun on her heel and marched from the room. Behind her, Splinter's coughing had turned into painful sounding hacking. Beneath that was the soft murmuring of Donatello's voice; the sharp snap of a plastic container being popped open and the softer rattle of pills being dispensed.

She ran a hand through over her face and up into her hair. Scrubbing violently. Making the tangle of curls heap into a mass of knots. No sooner was she through the door, reaching to slide it closed behind her, when Raphael's voice boomed through the living room.

"Where the fuck is everyone?"

Mikey erupted from the bathroom, bounding towards the sound of his brother's arrival, a towel draped over his glistening shoulders, still wet from the shower; his bare face split in a wide smile, pressing out the dimples. And as he spotted Raphael, impossibly, the joy on his face grew brighter.

"Hey! There's our weary night owl, _whoa_." Mikey came up short.

His smile faltered and then disappeared as he took in the large bandage and the general fatigue in his brother's face. He sobered instantly and asked as he rushed across the room, reaching for Raphael, "Bro, what happened to you?"

Raphael knocked his hand away, "Nothin'. Don't worry about it." He moved to step past his younger brother.

"But –"

"You deaf?" Raph asked as he wheeled around and crowded Mikey. Eyeing him until Mikey eased back, slowly lowering his face away. He ground out each word, "Don't worry about it."

He marched past Mikey, limping slightly, and lumbered into the kitchen.

April and Mikey exchanged a look as the sound of Raphael grumbling and the fridge creaking open and slamming shut reached them. Mikey face was a mask of concern, miserable with worry, but he pressed his mouth into a line and tugged on the edges of the towel with both hands. He huffed and looked away.

Raph reemerged into the living area with a half-gallon of milk. He opened it and sniffed the contents. Grimacing, he recoiled. "Dammit," he stomped back into the kitchen and threw the container into the sink with a loud splash and a thick gurgling.

"Why can't anyone read the expiration date before putting that shit back in the fridge?" He stormed back into the room and glared at Mikey, then settled his fury on April. "Don't you usually bring us something half-way decent to eat when you drop by? It ain't asking much, seeing as you can actually walk into a grocery store without being jumped by people wantin' to dissect you."

She crossed her arms. She was so not in the mood for this.

"I guess buying Splinter's meds isn't enough?"

The words came tumbling from her, driven by the pounding of her heart from what had just happened in Splinter's room. The shame and hurt and fury coiled tight like a viper in the center of her chest.

"You think it's easy for me? Driving miles out of the city just so I don't bring attention to the fact that I'm buying way more than any normal person should be? That I'm stockpiling like some-some addict!?" Her voice rose and cracked. "I'm lucky I haven't been brought in for questioning at this point."

This kind of petty fighting and lashing out was getting them nowhere. Only adding to the tense and ugly atmosphere that had set up shop in the lair ever since Leonardo was sent away. The miasma of too many days spent brimming with resentments; each of them separated and left to their own coping devices; over-worked and cowed by individual worries; with too many unspoken fears, too many secrets all compiling upon the hopelessness of drifting helplessly through the antagonizing boredom of perpetual waiting. Waiting to know what to do next, to be directed, to be guided by something other than doubt and anxiety.

Waiting to know if he was alright. If he was lonely. Or missing them as much as they missed him.

But right now, she didn't care. She was beyond caring at this point. After the scene in the bedroom with Splinter, she felt hot-tempered and itching for a fight. The lair was electric with violent potential.

"But I have to do this for Splinter. So, I do. I _help_."

"_Tch_, Splinter's fine," Raph said with a curl of his upper lip. He grunted and unconsciously held his side with one hand. "And last time I checked there ain't no cure for gettin' old."

"Getting old?" she repeated incredulously. "Is that what you call this?"

Raph rolled his eyes, free hand on his hip. "Don't get hysterical," he muttered.

"Raph," Mikey yanked on the towel ends. "Don't do that," he warned.

"Besides," April went on as if Mikey hadn't interrupted. "I didn't realize I was in charge of keeping you guys fed. Since you're all a bunch of grown men around here, I sort of thought you weren't helpless."

Raph's face darkened. His eyes flashed. "Who you callin' helpless?" He growled and raised both arms up, palms up. "You callin' me helpless? Me?! After all the times I –"

Mikey jumped in between them. "Whoa, whoa, chill. C'mon." He kept his face trained on April. Pleading. "Enough, guys. Let's not fight. Why don't you sit down, Raph and let me make us all a nice -"

Raphael pointed at her from over Mikey's shoulder. "You . . . You should be grateful!"

April's vision went white with fury. She grabbed the nearest thing to her, which happened to be the television remote and a throw pillow.

"Oh, let me show you my _gratitude_!"

She lobed first the cushion then the remote at Raphael as she circled around Mikey. He knocked the cushion away and barely dodged the remote as it sailed an inch over his head. Twirling end over end to crash into the wall and shatter into a cascade of plastic bits and batteries.

Raph lurched to one side, holding his bullet wound. He swore between clenched teeth as a jolt of razor-edged pain ripped through him.

"Stop!" Mikey hollered, rising up from where he'd ducked.

April ran around Mikey, pulling out of his reaching hands. "If anyone should be grateful – it's _you_!" April hollered and shoved at Raphael. Mikey tugged helplessly at the back of her shirt. She punched Raph in the bicep and then shoved at him again.

Raph blinked at her over one shoulder as he winced, still gripping his side. "Knock it off!" Raph yelled, but there was no bite in his tone.

"You stay out all night – going who knows where and doing who knows what – leaving Donnie here to do everything! Because of you, he's gotta keep this place running, take care of Splinter and keep tabs on Mikey!"

"Hey," Mikey said, hurt. "I don't need a babysitter. I can take care of myself. And I never asked Donnie for any –"

"Besides that, he works like a-a dog and what do you ever do for anyone but yourself!? You were gone for two days and you didn't even leave a note! Don't you even care!? What's the matter with you!? Why don't you do anything to help!?"

"You don't know what you're talkin' about! You never do!" Raph snarled in her face. His voice rose, "What do you know!? _Nothin'!_ You got no fuckin' clue! You-You're nuts!"

"That's right, Raphael! I'm nuts!" She straightened up and motioned with a flurry of her hands at the lair. "Nuts for sticking around to deal with all of this! A normal woman my age wouldn't put up with this kind of crap!" Her voice raised another octave, "Hell, a normal woman would have her life together not be stuck in the sewers of New York City watching over a bunch of-of . . . !"

"_April_," the hurt in Donatello's quiet exhale rang clearly across the suddenly very still, very quiet room.

Her mouth opened and closed. The three of them blinked and stood rigid; like three children caught in the midst of some shameful act. The awkward moment swelled, a droplet of poison whose girth expanded until it crowded out the air from the room. No one moved.

Master Splinter emerged from behind Donatello. A knowing look on his face. Something like triumph in his gaze as it lingered on April. Tears welled in her eyes.

_I will not cry_, she thought fiercely as the first trickle jangled down her cheeks.

Mikey swallowed loudly, hands gripping nervously at the ends of the towel around his neck. "Uh, hey, Sensei." He gave a little wave with one finger and fidgeted. "Uh, Raph's home," he announced gaily, but released the forced smile immediately. "Yay," he murmured and closed his mouth with a duck of his head.

April dropped her eyes. More tears spilled unbidden down her face. She looked around the floor, searching. Finally, her gaze fell on Raph who stood beside her, curled slightly over his bandaged side.

Raphael pressed his mouth together and shot her a furtive glance before sweeping his eyes to the floor as well, cheeks flushed; one hand cupped the bandage spreading a darkening crimson. He cleared his throat roughly. Shifted from one foot to the other.

The moment spread and thickened. Somewhere above them a train rumbled. Dust motes twirled down from the ceiling. The five remained standing, steps away, but separated by distance immeasurable; each trapped within their own encapsulated worlds of regrets and sadness; torment and desire; loneliness and hopelessness.

And the absence of balance in the Hamato home, for the absence of but one, was complete.

"I-I think I should go home," April said finally.

No one said another word as she fled from the room, gathering her jacket and keys from just inside the exit. She left without looking back. Battling a losing war against the tide of her emotions.

* * *

**A/N:** Wow, an emotional roller coaster. I worked really hard on this sucker, I hope you enjoyed it.

I really wanted to explore the impact and stress on the family due to Leonardo being gone. The inorganic, forced, expulsion of one who is crucial to the family dynamic. The desperation which is building towards a choice that at any other time might be incomprehensible. Oh yes, I have plans. :D

In the meantime, don't forget that the 2014 StealthyStories Fanfiction Competition has begun! Please consider participating. It's a great way to show support to the writers of our favorite fics! I've started compiling my list of nominees to submit in February. And I hope you join in the fun!


	9. Instincts

**Chapter 9 - Instincts**

* * *

_"Dr. Tsuneo, there is someone here to meet you."_

_The doctor raises his head, glancing above the rim of his spectacles. His office door opens wider as the nurse exits._

No breath. No scream. The pressure of the wind squeezed it from him. Leaving his mouth gaping. His lungs collapsed and straining.

Leaves whipped him. Stinging like tiny, vicious teeth nipping at him. Shredding his flesh where exposed.

Blue sky blotted out by the sudden deep green. Green everywhere. The rushing sound of the wind now replaced by the crashing of his body through the canopy.

He reached frantically with pin wheeling arms and clawing fingers. But it was no use. He was tumbling, twisting, turning, falling.

Falling to his death.

_A man enters the room and bows deeply. Young. A boy, really. _

_Tsuneo stands up, returning the display of greeting and respect._

_"Thank you for seeing me, Dr. Tsuneo. My name is Oroku Saki. I am most honored to be in the presence of someone so skilled . . . and discreet."_

_A wry smile tugs at his mouth. Tsuneo likes him at once._

The snapping of branches as they snagged against his body, tearing through his clothing; the rush of his thundering heart in his ears. The cracking of bones. Joints bent the wrong way as he crashed into the thicker limbs of trees, spinning him after knocking the wind from him. Tumbling him like a pinwheel in the gusty breeze.

He was tangled in vines, suspended for an instant, brief, sharp hope expanded in his chest before the vines stretched; extending and snapping like rubber bands as he cartwheeled through them. He dropped. Caught again only to crash through the living netting.

Stomach in his throat, he was swallowed by pillowy ferns that could not cushion his fall, but merely engulf him with feathered arms and serrated fingers.

_Aki's smile. Her gentle eyes. A quiet soul. A persistent patience to match all his foolishness._

The ground reunited with him in a flash of bright light.

Something snapped in rapid fire. Like firecrackers; all in an explosive line. The way vertebrae does when enough pressure and force severe the delicate bones. Shattering them.

His breath returned in a blaze of agony. Body afire with pain. Blood welled up in the back of his throat. Drowning him.

The world above whirled and blurred. Darkening at the edges.

_Bells chiming. Tolling an end. And a beginning. _

_A wedding laced with anguish for man who had become something of a son to him. _

_A fight. A fire. A death. _

Tsuneo choked on his blood, laying supine with a broken back in the center of the jungle. His crumbled and twisted body soaked with perspiration.

Animals and insects screeched all around. Screaming at him:_ Saki! Find it! Saki!_

His eyes watered as his broken body convulsed and memories flashed, faster and faster.

_Another wedding. This one brings his son a measure of joy. The past is released. A thread at a time. Woven into the fabric of a new future. One of promise. _

_And in between there is his ginger-root. His constant. His heart. She is holding him. Making love to him. Understanding him in her quiet way. There is happiness. Peace. _

_A child is born. A daughter. To him, like a granddaughter. Dark hair and fiery temperament like her mother. _

_His contentment grows as his surrogate family grows. _

The pain gripped him. Rolling through him like an internal earthquake. His punctured lungs struggled to drag air into his failing body.

_There is joy for a time. Promise. His practice is doing well. The man he thinks on as his son, is at long last happy. Truly. _

_And maybe it will last._

Tears spilled down his shuddering cheeks.

_Inevitably, death comes again. Taking all this time. A mother and a son. A distraught father flying home from America. _

_Tsuneo can only stand aside and watch the young man seethe. Drowning in his fury. Lost in seeking revenge. Consumed by the madness of grief, twisting it into a dark goal. _

The world shrinks to the thunderous stridulating:**_ SAKI! SAKI! Find it! SAKI!_**

The question he couldn't form on his lips, rose in his mind. _What?_ His fading consciousness reached out to it as a drowning man would grasp a buoy.

Dr. Tsuneo sputtered and gagged, spittle and blood bubbled out to spill over his cheek. Hot. Yet his body shook. Every tremor brought more anguish.

He wanted to sleep and the urge to close his eyes evolved into a sudden desperate need.

The insects screamed around, above him: **_Saki! Saki! Saki! Saki!_**

Doctor Tsuneo Yuichi choked and gurgled. He reached with the last of his strength and shaking fingers to dig into his pocket. Praying with what was left of his consciousness that the cell phone remained in place during his fall. Shards of pain cut through his torso; he could not feel his legs; could not move his head even an inch to see.

His vision darkened. He peered through a tunnel. The light, blue and focused, at one end. Sharp and welcoming.

His index finger jerked and jumped in spastic urgency. The plastic met his fingertip and he would have laughed had he not been choking to death on his own blood.

Fumbling, he slid the cover open and pressed the speed dial with his thumb.

His hand fell away. Limp.

Two thousand, two hundred and ninety-eight miles away, a cell phone rumbled across a night stand.

# # #

Leonardo watched helplessly as Karai's doctor tumbled through the side opening of the helicopter. With him, the hope for Karai's rescue. His unborn child's.

He wheezed. The blade remained biting into the delicate flesh of his throat.

His heart slammed against his ribs. His arms were pinned back. Eyes bulging, wild with fury and fear. Body tensed and muscles coiled, but immobile.

The woman turned from the opening, where she stood braced by her outstretched arms. She turned and wiped at a line of blood dribbling down from the corner of her lips. A dark bruise mottled the side of her neck where Tsuneo had grappled with her.

Without even a glance in his direction, she stepped over Karai's body. As though she were baggage. Nothing more. She climbed back into her seat next to the pilot. With a grunt, she settled into her seat.

She huffed, voice unsteady from exertion, and graced with a light German accent, "One annoyance dealt with."

Sophia cleared her throat and brushed a hand through her blonde, cropped hair. Fixing it. She wiped again at her bottom lip and chin. With a grimace, she swiped her hand against one thigh.

"Are we on course?" she asked the pilot.

A male voice, thickly accented, replied, "E.T.A. is less than four hours."

Leonardo thrashed, swinging his shoulders from side to side, trying to get to Karai, to see if there was anything he could do for her, but the soldiers held him. One of them struck the side of his head with the hilt of a dagger. A flash of pain blinded him. He groaned and shook his head.

Sophia twisted in her seat at the sound of his struggle. She looked over her shoulder; glancing at Karai who lay quiet and unmoving with a soldier hovering over her, to Leo, whose entire body thrummed with the promise of violence.

She smirked.

"Relax, freak," She turned back to face the front of the helicopter. "You are out-numbered and at a distinct disadvantage. If you want to live to see Karai awake again, you'll be smart about this."

A steady growl rose from him.

Sophia chuckled. "But of course, we could just toss her out to join her doctor and be done with this entire fiasco once and for all."

Leonardo bit back his growl. Choking it down. His face remained a mask of fury, but his eyes widened slightly. They darted from the soldier hovering above Karai to the back of the woman's head.

"Lord knows we've invested enough time and capital into this nonsense," she waved her hands around in the air. "Searching for this little wretch. Plotting this out for months."

She grew quiet, in an under breath, she added, "I barely had time to plan the funerals." She stared out into the expansive sky. "Mother and Auntie's deaths."

She spun in her seat, face darkened, eyes flashing. _"For what!?"_

She clambered over the backrest and dropped before Karai's head.

The soldier scrambled to get out of the way and pressed against the far side of the interior. Putting as much distance between his enraged mistress and the opening of the helicopter as he could.

Sophia gripped a handful of Karai's hair, lifting her head from the floor. Karai moaned but did not move.

Leonardo stiffened. "_No!"_

Sophia shook her head violently. "All because of _her_."

She dropped Karai's head and sat back on her heels; staring at the young woman with disgust. She covered her eyes with one hand and then dropped it between her knees. She glanced out the side door. Took in a breath and looked again at Karai. Face calmer, now. Her voice near conversational.

_"_I would be happy to cut her throat and be done with it. Venom has better things to do. _I_ have better things to do."

She blew a strand of loose hair from her cheek. Tentatively, she patted at the corner of her swelling lip with a fingertip. She went on, speaking to herself more than anyone else, "Then I wouldn't have to go to the compound. God, how I hate that place. I don't know how Marcus can stand it, considering what goes on there. It makes my skin crawl."

From a belt around her thigh, she pulled a short dagger. The blade gleamed in the light. She ran her thumb against the edge, considering the sharpness. Her eyes snapped back to Karai.

The passengers fell still. A quiet descended upon them, broken only by the steady _thwumph_, _thwumph_, _thwumph_ of the helicopter's blades.

_"Please," _Leo ground out_. "Don't hurt her."_

She raised her head, meeting Leonardo's gaze. She studied him a long time, eyes cold and calculating. She sighed and returned the dagger to its hilt with a jerk.

"I can't even if I wanted to. It's not up to me. I have my brother's feelings to consider, after all. I owe it to him after what he's suffered. And he wants her alive. He's waiting for us at the compound. That horrid place."

She stared at Leonardo, face grim. Disgustedly, she said, "The things we do for family."

Leonardo could only hold his breath; keeping his face as neutral as possible. His mind raced for a way out. Anything.

"But look at this," Sophia said slowly, snapping his attention back to the woman squatting over his wife.

Glancing down at Karai, she reached out and ran her hand along the rounded pregnant stomach.

Leonardo started and made a strangled sound.

She huffed out an astonished chuckle and turned wide eyes to him. _"Pregnant!" _

Leonardo struggled with renewed vigor.

The men grunted and held him back. The blade bit into his throat. He felt the sharpness slicing into his flesh. Felt the heat of his blood trickle along his throat. He didn't care. He'd tear that woman's arm from her body for laying her hand on Karai.

Sophia kept her face turned to Karai but gave Leo a sidelong look. "You are responsible for this." It wasn't a question. "Ironic. You may have killed her yourself."

Leonardo felt the weight of his guilt flush away his strength. He sank back at her words. Trembling. Sorrowful gaze locked only on his beloved, Karai.

Sophia's eyes narrowed. She whispered, "So, it _is_ yours."

He closed his eyes.

The traitorous Foot Soldiers remained as shadows inside. Silent and obedient. But at this, they started and looked from one another back to Karai.

"Oh, Father _will_ be interested."

Sophia stood up, crouching from the low ceiling of the helicopter. She shuffled back to her seat and climbed over the back.

"Get us to the island as quickly as you can," she said to the pilot who nodded.

Leonardo mentally shook himself. This was no time for self-pity. His panicked mind raced.

They had to get out of here. They needed a way out. An escape. Something. Anything. Just, a plan. One that would allow him to get out of the helicopter with Karai and not just to end up falling to their deaths.

"Ever been to the Cayman Islands?" Sophia suddenly asked and laughed, "No, I suppose not. Though I can't say that I'm not surprised to find you in Central America. You freaks do get around, don't you? Anyway, we're not exactly going to the Cayman's, but a little spot west of there. Father found a little place that was perfect for . . . hmm, very special, very elite, operations. Well, you'll see."

Leo's eyes darted around the cramped interior of the helicopter. There were three soldiers and the pilot as well as this woman who seemed in charge. He could take them. He was sure.

But they were miles above the ground heading out over the ocean. He could not pilot the helicopter. The doctor was gone. Dead. Karai was unconscious and possibly dying from the loss of blood. His unborn child could be dying as he knelt, watching, helpless to do anything. To save either of them. Powerless to do anything.

It was all his fault.

A small desperate sound strangled out from the back of his throat.

There was no way. No way out.

"I'll do whatever you want," he hissed through gritted teeth.

Sophia sat forward and twisted. "What's that?"

The soldiers pinning him tightened their grip. He closed his eyes and willed his body to remain lax. A tremor ran through him.

"Whatever you want. Just," his eyes shot to Karai, his jaw worked, "help her."

She tipped her head to the side. "Aw," she breathed. "Isn't that sweet." Her fingertips brushed her chest. She glanced at the pilot and the other soldiers.

"You really care for her, don't you? To offer yourself up so quickly. So willingly. And you have no idea what we are capable of. No. You're just a noble beast, aren't you?"

She pressed her lips into smile. It was sharp and savage.

"What if I told you, there was nothing to fear, eh? What if I told you that all of this effort and expense was merely done so that we could fetch Karai only so Marcus could speak to her in private? Without the . . . politics of Foot Clan or Venom getting in the way?" She shrugged, voice raised high and innocent, "That's all."

She laughed outright at Leonardo's expression; slapping the back of her seat.

"_Ahahaha! _Aw, you know. You are actually rather adorable when I take the time to get a good look at you. _Tch_, don't _worry_, lover boy. Things have taken an interesting and lucrative turn. We don't want anything nasty to happen to either of you."

"We're going to take good care of you. All," she pointed her finger and bobbed it in the air as though counting, "three of you."

# # #

Mikey sat in the van. One hand rested on top of the oversized, smiling caricature of a mutant turtle's head. His fingers tapped, thudding lightly in time with the pattering rhythm of rain drops against the windshield and roof.

He'd parked in an alley just behind the address of the private party he'd been given. It wasn't the neighborhood he'd expected to be in, but he wasn't about to complain. The more remote the location the safer it was, actually. Less people staring at him like the freak he was, costume and party van or not. And, the money he'd earn tonight would be worth the trouble of driving out here to the sticks.

The music faded. Replaced by a chipper voice on the radio. The woman rambled on about winning an exotic vacation to the Cayman Islands.

_Sun, Surf, Sex on the Beach! The next caller to be number fifty seven will win!_

Mikey tipped his head as he listened. Trying to picture what that would be like. How exciting it would be to win something so awesome. Picturing his family playing in the surf. In the sun. April's skin freckled and tan. Donnie worrying about her getting sunburnt and offering to rub more sunscreen onto her back. Raph would be playing volley ball with him. Sensei would be napping in the shade, wearing a one-piece old-fashioned striped swimsuit.

He chuckled; eyes misting, as the familiar sinking melancholy pulled at him.

The rain drummed. His fingers tapped. His heart sunk. Thunder rolled above in the sleet-gray sky; darkening the evening.

Another rumbling roar had him leaning forward in his seat. Was it thunder or a plane? He couldn't tell.

He wondered how it would feel to be on a plane. His brother had been on one. Funny how out of all of them, the guy most terrified of heights was the only one of them to get to go on a plane.

Actually, was forced to.

The corners of his mouth turned down. His breath hitched in his throat.

"Don't be a baby," he said and rubbed one eye. Feeling the sting burrow deeper, jamming it back to bury it with the rest of his pain.

With a sniffle, he pulled down the visor and grinned a wide, false smile into the mirror. Eyes wide and glassy. Looking more manic than cheerful.

"Get your game face on, bro," he said. "You're gonna scare the kids."

His smile stretched, then snapped back to the morose look. The one he'd been getting more and more used to seeing in the mirror every morning.

It was no use.

He needed to get into the party frame of mind, but just couldn't. It was hard enough to face a roomful of tiny terrors when he was at full bouncy power. This was going to suck.

But what sucked more was yesterday.

"Yesterday mega-sucked."

Raph had finally come home and he was obviously hurt. Bad. Despite trying to act all macho and stupid about it, Mikey could tell right away. The guy looked like he'd been hit by a train.

April went bonkers and basically told them all that she was sick and tired of babysitting a bunch of dysfunctional overgrown mutant babies. He didn't even want to know what was running through her mind, going off on Raph like that.

Then Donatello looked like he was going to either explode or throw up.

In fact, Mikey was pretty sure he heard him vomiting after he'd come out of Sensei's room later in the evening.

And before that, the sound of Splinter reprimanding Donatello over his poor leadership skills made even Raphael muted and as close to apologetic as the guy came. He'd even made a pot of tea and toasted some pop-tarts and left them out on the table for Donatello.

Donnie didn't notice the uncharacteristically kind gesture. They were still there this morning. Hard as a rock.

He sighed.

He turned to the turtle head, twisting it with his fingers until they faced each other.

"C'mon, buddy. We've got some dough to earn."

He grappled with the mask and killed the engine. He hopped out of the van and tucked the mask under his armpit. He cast about and found the back door as instructed.

"Really wish I could've told Don where I'd be tonight."

When he'd gone to talk to his brother, to ask him about this private party he was leaving for in less than an hour, he wasn't at his work desk. The headset lay discarded on the seat of the computer chair. The screens all quiet. Blank. Staring.

Mikey exited the tech room that Donatello had set up for his job. He rounded the living room.

Raphael snored where he laid on the sofa, a motorcycle magazine over his face. Mikey smiled with relief. Just having Raph home for a change was a cause for celebration.

He'd have loved to challenge his grump-ass brother to a round of videogames, an extra-large bowl of popcorn and some cheesy, slasher-horror flicks for the rest of the night, but he had to get to this party. There'd be time for all that later.

Unless, Donatello thought it wasn't a good idea, after all. Then, maybe he'd just stay home. With Raph.

Not that he was worried. Or didn't want to go. He knew what he was doing.

He just wanted to let Donnie know that he'd be bringing home some extra cash tonight. Rub it in his face a little. Let him know how he scored this event and how he'd be getting more for a single party than he'd ever managed before. A _private_ party. One he booked on his own. Start to finish. He was helping. Really contributing, all without anyone else's help.

And also, so Donatello wouldn't worry when they noticed he wasn't home. Mikey paused mid-step, then went on. _If_ they noticed.

_Nah, they would notice._

_And . . ._ _also_, if Donnie thought it wasn't a good idea, then maybe . . . maybe he wouldn't go.

There was a nagging unease that he couldn't shake. That woman had given him the super-creeps. Though if he really thought about it, it was most likely due to the awkward atmosphere left in the lair since April stormed off last night. Crying. And all the fighting with Splinter afterwards.

_Where the heck was Donnie at, anyway?_

Mikey searched the kitchen, the plate of rock-hard pop-tarts remained on the counter, untouched. He peeked into the bathroom. Donatello wasn't in the lab, the laundry room or the dojo, either.

Mikey had finally crept to his brother's bedroom. Wondering if maybe he'd gone to bed early.

Empty.

He blinked and turned in a full circle in the doorway. _What is this, a game of hide and seek?_ An idea struck him. And he wasn't exactly sure why he thought of it, but he was usually wise to listen to his gut. It was hardly ever wrong.

He moved down the short hallway towards his oldest brother's room. A strange churning feeling chugging inside his stomach. Like the buzz he used to get right before one of his brothers passed just out of reach from where he was hiding during a game of hide and seek.

He stopped just outside the door. Sure enough, Leo's door was ajar. He pressed his fingertips against it, and it swung open a bit further. He peeked inside.

Donatello was there.

Sitting in the middle of the small, barely furnished room. No lights on. Not even a candle lit. Kneeling as though he were meditating. His shell to him. Head low between his pinched shoulders. His hand balled into a tight fist on top of his thigh.

Michelangelo blinked in surprise.

Donnie never meditated. Not that Mikey had ever seen. Not ever except for the times Master Splinter forced them to sit quiet and try to focus as a cool down after their workouts.

He opened his mouth to ask if he was okay, then better yet, to make a joke about Donnie taking his job as 'replacement Leo' a wee bit too far, but stopped as a sound caught his ear.

The faintest sniffle. The softest wheeze of a restrained sob.

Mikey blinked. He closed his mouth. The churning feeling in his stomach leaped to make a knot in the center of his throat.

He ducked his head; slipped back, hooking his fingers against the edge of the door, pulling it closed as he gave his brother some space. Feeling guilt like something sticky glued to the top of his mouth. The lump he couldn't swallow away lodged thickly in place.

_I shouldn't bother him. _

And with that thought in mind, Mikey left for the party.

He pulled the large mask up over his head. He bumped the driver's side door of the van shut with his hip.

Voice muffled, he said, "It's party time."


	10. Everyone has a Price

_"Don't worry about a thing. _

_'Cuz every little thing _

_gonna be alright."_ **-**Bob Marley &amp; the Wailers, Three Little Birds

* * *

**Chapter 10 - Everyone has a Price**

* * *

He rapped his knuckles against the door; tottering back on his heels where he stood in the short carpeted hallway. Doing his best to sweep away the clinging worry, the gnawing sense that he should be home right now. With his brothers.

But he had a job to do. He couldn't let the kids down. Rotten little monsters or not, he just couldn't stand to think of their disappointment if he blew off this gig.

The elevator had been out so he'd had to hoof it up to the top floor. _What a crappy place for a kids party_, Mikey thought for the second time that evening. Four floors wasn't a problem for him, he hadn't even broken a sweat, but as he ascended to his destination, he felt bad for the kids coming to the party.

Lightning flashed, making the small rectangular window at the end of the corridor wink with light before going dark. The sound of distant thunder rumbled above, shaking the floor slightly with its power. A thunderstorm rolling in on top of it all. Bad luck all around.

"Maybe it'll be over by the time I'm heading home," Mikey mumbled hopefully as he readjusted the goofy turtle head he wore.

The sound of approaching footsteps snapped his attention to the door just as it opened. A man he didn't recognize stared at him with an expression of dull suspicion. Mikey had met some of the kids' fathers during the gigs he worked. He'd never seen this hulk. The guy was easily six four, maybe more, with a crew-cut shaved so close he was nearly bald. One of the kids' dads, had to be, he guessed.

Or the lady had hired a bouncer for the party.

Mikey felt his fake head threatening to topple off as he tipped back to meet the man's gray eyes.

"Erm," he said, voice muffled by the over-sized turtle head covering his own. He cleared his throat. "Cowabunga Carl reporting for duty!" He snapped his heels together and saluted.

The giant of a man continued his cold stare.

Mikey's chuckling died back to a nervous cough. They stood there, facing each other in silence for another drawn out minute. A shiver ran down Mikey's spine. He rubbed his palms against the sides of his body, then pulled the card out of his belt and peered through the uneven eye holes of his mask at the address. He stepped to one side and leaned over to glance at the numbers on the door behind the man.

"I'm at the right . . . Uh, this _is_, hmm," he fidgeted, feeling himself begin to sweat. "A, uh, Ms. Strumpf hired me? Fiona Strumpf? Is, uh, she here? Blonde lady . . ."

"Dieter," a familiar voice called from behind the man, "let our little performer inside."

The man named Dieter considered him for a moment longer, then nodded and stepped aside. He smirked, cracking his smooth face into a riot of angled lines. "Come in dancing turtle," he said with a thick accent.

An image of Arnold Schwarzenegger popped into Michelangelo's head. Unable to help himself, he clapped his hands together, pointed at the man, and quipped in an attempt at a German-accented voice, "I vant to pamp you ahup!"

Mikey laughed and faked a few jabs at the guy who stood rigid and unmoving. "Right? Am I right?"

The man's smirk dropped. His eyes flashed. He stared at Michelangelo with a look that could only be described at murderous.

Mikey gulped. "Well, I gotta job to do!" He dropped his hands and skipped his feet. Skirting around the man. Moving a bit faster into the apartment. Getting out of grabbing reach. That guy gave him the willies.

Before he got far, Fiona came out of nowhere and grabbed him by the shoulders, ushering him hastily into one of the open doors on either side of the hall. For being such a wispy woman, she was surprisingly strong. She shoved him inside.

"Whoa!"

His heels slid against a throw rug before he caught himself, nearly toppling over. He righted the mask to see Fiona closing the door behind her.

"First," she said and with quick strides crossed the short distance between them. She reached over and yanked the mask off his head.

"Hey! What the helll . . . heyo, Miss Fiona," he amended. He cleared his throat and chuckled. He pointed at the mask as she chucked aside. It bounced and rolled to a stop next to a writing desk coated in dust.

Mikey took a half-step back, hoping she hadn't dented the head, "Er, Wait. I need that. For the act."

"No, you really don't." She sidled closer to him.

The sharp peppermint-cigar scent of her breath made his nose crinkle.

"Uh, _heh_, yeah, I really do." He coughed and turned his head. This woman had a way of standing too close to him, crowding his personal space, which usually he was pretty lenient about. But there was just something creepy about this lady that he couldn't pinpoint.

She tipped her face to one side, considering him. The white-blond bangs brushed diagonally across her thinned brows. She pursed her pink lips. Her finger raised and she bobbed him gently on the tip of his snout. "Don't you remember what we talked about at Jackie's party?"

Mikey blinked. "Uh," he rubbed the back of his head and inched back a bit, trying not to be rude, but needing the breathing room. He snapped his fingers, "You'd pay me double," he grinned.

At that she laughed. It was an odd sound. Mechanical. Like rattling utensils. Or garbage cans tipping into an alley. He swallowed and wanted more than anything to bolt.

"Aw, look at those dimples. You little doll."

He felt his face heat unintentionally at the comment. "Heh, yeah. Okay." He moved a step, twisted, and stooped to retrieve his mask. "No, but I really do need this. The kids like the mask. Much cuter than this," he said and pointed to his face.

She kicked the head before his fingers could close around the sides. He paused, frowning, still reaching. It bounced across the sparely furnished room. In fact, from what he'd seen of the place, it had a vacated, abandoned feel to it. The fake head made a soft resounding thud as it hit the wall.

He straightened up. Anger flared. "Not so rough! Take it easy with the head."

Fiona smiled her shark-like grin, all even teeth, slightly pointed. "Aw, but I always play rough, especially with the head."

Mikey froze. He felt his face flush and his body reflexively heat. There was no other way to take what she just said to him. And yet, he couldn't believe that those words had actually come out of her mouth.

His eyes darted from side to side. What the hell was going on here? Was she hitting on him? He started to stammer something that he didn't even know what he was trying to say when she spoke over him.

"Trust me. There's no problem with your," her eyes scanned over him. Top to bottom. He felt it crawl across his skin, marking him in slime trails. "Appearance."

He held one arm with his opposite hand, unconsciously covering his body. Feeling strangely naked. All of the earlier anger ebbed away, replaced with growing discomfort. Anxiety. Arousal that he did _not_ want to feel. It was clouded by his unease, but there, nonetheless. He swallowed.

"But. Th-The kids, they won't -" he tried to insist, to retrain his thoughts back to the point at hand. Wanting more than ever to hide inside that over-sized mask.

"There aren't any kids here, Carl." She narrowed her eyes. "Is that really your name? Or is that just your stage name?"

Mikey frowned, catching on and focusing on one important piece of information and ignoring her question. "Uh, you know, I, uh, I think maybe we aren't understanding one another. I thought this was a party. But . . . there's no kids here?"

She sucked in her heavily glossed lips and shook her head. Blinking innocently.

"Th-Then who am I performing for?"

"Me," she said.

Mikey shifted his feet back in surprise as she creeped up on him. She stopped an inch from his body. She rested her arms onto his shoulders, toyed with the straps of his bandana behind his head, raking her long black and blue-tipped manicured nails along his skin.

He repressed a shudder even as his body grew uncomfortably warm.

"Oh, and a few friends. After Jackie's party, I told them all about you. And they really wanted to see you. Just like I knew they would. I knew they'd be interested in such a," there came a hungry gleam in her eyes that had Mikey swallowing reflexively, "unique act."

Mikey, unsure, suddenly feeling as though he were in way over his head, feeling this was all a big mistake, opened his mouth, but before he could speak, she cut him off.

She stepped back and straightened her blouse. "It's a little something I do on the side."

Mikey frowned. "I'm not sure I understand . . ."

"Oh, it's simple." She flashed her shark-grin. "I locate, uhmm, special acts for this little group of friends I know."

This was beginning to sound like a really bad idea. More than ever he wished he had Donatello's voice in his ear, picking up on the conversation and backing him up with advice. He had a feeling that if Donnie were listening to this, he'd be screaming, _ABORT! ABORT!_ And instructing Michelangelo on just how exactly he should extract himself from this woman, this apartment, this messed-up situation.

Mikey stepped back and inched towards the door. Trying and failing to look casual. "I-I think I'd better . . . I mean, can I use your, uh, bathroom? On second thought, I forgot something in the van! Yeah, that's it!"

She reached out with one bony arm and blocked him from going forward.

"Ah-ah-ah! Don't get cold feet, doll. You're going out this door here," she spun him roughly on his heels, "and you're going to dance for us. Show us what you've got, understand?"

"W-Well, I dunno. I really should go get my, uhm, uh," he stammered at a loss.

She stopped, crossed her arms. Gave him an angry, disappointed look. "Don't ruin the fun. I'm paying good money for this."

The mention of money stilled his panic. He hesitated, scratching at his chest and glancing around at the dingy room. This was wrong. This was bad. He didn't like this _at all_.

"Look, I'm happy to pay more."

His face shot up. "More?"

She shrugged. "It makes no difference what I pay you." Her grin spread wider.

"Oh, really? Oh, hmm."

He wrapped his arms around himself. Thinking suddenly of Donatello last night in Leonardo's empty room. Hearing that repressed sob echo in his mind. Remembering the sound of him being sick in the bathroom after Splinter reprimanded him for whatever it was that he'd done wrong that day. The fight with April only making everything so much worse.

He felt his chest tighten with sympathy at the pressure his older brother was under.

He remembered then what she said to Raph. About Donnie having to keep tabs on him like he was a baby – a helpless baby - how Donnie was the only one helping the family in any real way.

A flash of hurt went through him. He grimaced.

He looked up and met her anticipatory gaze, held it. This was his chance.

"Yeah, you know what? Yes," he said, squaring his shoulders. "I'll do it. I mean, you're paying me to be here. And I am already here."

She nodded eagerly. Took him by the shoulders again, herding him towards a side door before he could negotiate his price. Well, he'd have to handle that later.

He became aware of the music thumping from the other side. He twisted away, feeling a surge of self-doubt about this decision, "M-Maybe I should stretch out first."

She said nothing as she pulled open the door and thrust him through.

The swirling, flashing lights threw him for a moment; blinded him as they flared across his vision. He winced and squinted. Fiona gave him another little shove. His feet stuttered forward across the laminate flooring. He came to a stop near the center of a decent-sized, window-less room. He looked over his shoulder to see an opening which led to a hallway. Having spotted the exit, he felt instantly better.

A heaving drumbeat assaulted him. The electronic thrum vibrating through his body and trembling his shell in a not-all-that-unpleasant way. It tickled. A wavering grin danced across his mouth as he started a bouncing step into the center of the room where an open space awaited his performance.

Chairs were set up in a wide semi-circle. The flashing lights made it hard to make out more than the dark silhouettes of the people gathered as his audience. But he could tell they were all adults.

A wave of anxiety had him falter. But Fiona's voice called out behind him, making him jump.

"C'mon, Carl. Show us those moves!"

_Okay, Mikey. Time to earn some real dough. Prove to my family that I'm capable of helping. Like seriously helping! And show these folks how a ninja breaks it down!_

In a burst of adrenaline, he shot forward, snapped his feet apart and together, weaving his head and popping his arms. He spun. Dropped and swept his legs around, over and up, balancing on his hands before jumping up only to drop back and kick. He rolled backwards up to a hand stand, did a push up and popped back to his feet all in perfect time with the rhythmic beat of the music.

Someone whistled their approval and he could just make out the sound of applause beneath the thundering music.

His grin was wide and genuine. _This is actually pretty fun! Man, if they like that, they'll love this!_

He hadn't brought his chucks inside. He never did. They were tucked safely under the passenger-side seat in the van.

Though he'd have liked to show off his mad skills at the parties, Donatello had expressed his firm opinion that bringing weapons into a crowded room full of children was not a good idea. No matter how careful Mikey promised he'd be. He'd settled for a pair of over-sized foam chucks.

How could he be a ninja master without a weapon?

Mikey pulled them out now. The balance was poor and the chain was plastic, but he made it work. It was all in good fun, anyway.

He weaved side to side as he whipped the goofy implements around. He imagined blocking the little circles of light as he spun them. Defending his body from the furious attack. He laughed out loud as he went through a short-modified kata that he improvised on the spot. His arms and legs moved in symmetrical patterns, never losing control of the spinning foam chucks.

_I'm on fire!_

He dropped into splits, popped up and spun the chucks over his head, threw them up and caught them behind his back. Ending with them tucked under one arm. He leaped into the air, grabbed his thighs, and did a backwards summersault, landing with a final split and blowing kisses in general to the group around him.

Movement caught the corner of his eye.

Panting, he turned his head, smiling widely, just as a fist knocked him back. A flash of pain blinded him. Sputtering and scrambling back, stunned by the unexpected attack, he jumped up. His face darted around.

He thought he heard the outraged cry of a woman, but he wasn't sure. He couldn't see anything between the twirling lights and the flashing strobe. But the silhouettes were gone. He could just make out that the audience were no longer seated in their chairs. A few had backed off towards the walls, but several forms moved towards him.

"Whoa, hey now, let's calm down, okay?"

He didn't know what was going on, but apparently he'd done something to piss his audience off. Face throbbing, he glanced around trying to get his bearings; hands up, defensively; foam chucks clutched in one fist.

"Geez, my dancin' wasn't that bad!"

A roundhouse clipped his side as he just barely jumped back in time to avoid the full blow. The party lights blinked and went out. A switch was flicked. The room lit up, blinding him.

He blinked rapidly and spun the toy nunchucks out in front of him defensively. "Don't make me use these!"

Someone knocked the chucks from his hands with a vicious kick to his wrist and grabbed his upper arms. Before he could react, he was head-butted. His head rocked back. His knees buckled as his stomach took a blow from a knee, knocking the wind from him. He crumbled forward. Then lurched back as hard as he could, freeing himself.

He staggered backwards out of their grasping hands and twisted his hips, gasping for air, as he threw a front and back hook kick at his attacker. One landed and he heard a grunt of pain. He felt his shell hit the wall as he fell back to catch his breath.

His watering gaze darted around. The men crowded him. Above them all was the giant, Dieter. None of them looked happy. They all wore the same determined expression. That same fierce hunger for a fight.

_Oh shit. I gotta get outta here. _

He braced himself. Bouncing his knees once, then dashed forward, head down, in an attempt to barrel through the bodies cornering him. He'd seen Raph do this on occasion when fighting the Foot and he had no problem clearing the floor. Of course, if Mikey had time to think it through, Raph had about fifty additional pounds of rage-fueled muscle to help propel him like a wrecking ball through the opposing force.

While he knocked back the first guy, he didn't get any further. A set of meaty hands caught him, stopping his forward momentum. He glanced up to find Dieter holding him. He dragged himself back, using his heels, but the giant man's fingers wrapped securely around Mikey's forearms, squeezing painfully. Dieter tugged him forward.

"Where do you think you're going, little freak?"

He was violently shaken back and forth until his teeth rattled in his skull. The man paused to adjust his grip. Head spinning, Mikey tried to use the guy's body as leverage to climb up and kick him in the jaw. Only before he could, the guy head butted him again, then spun him around.

Dazed and tasting blood, he felt the giant paws pulling at him, spinning him around to face outwards. From the corner of his vision, he made out three men coming up fast.

From the side, he heard Fiona say, "Stop! Not so rough!"

Mikey bucked and struggled, but couldn't break lose as the man's arms looped under his armpits to lock behind his head.

This was bad. Really bad. Really, Really bad.

"Argh! Lemme go, you big lug!"

"Why must you always be so violent!?"

"Quiet, whore," Dieter snarled. "I don't have time to listen to you whine."

He kicked and buckled his knees, bouncing up and down, but the man didn't loosen his grip. He tried to throw his aching head back, but couldn't do more than wriggle like an impaled worm. Panic had him in its icy grip. His eyes rolled wildly, trying to find an opening, some way out of this.

He just spotted Fiona as she hesitantly approached. She stopped, looking unsure. Her hands at her sides balled into fists.

"F-Fiona! H-Help me!"

She folded her arms as he stared desperately from the corner of his eyes at her. "Fine, Dieter. Do it your way. But I'm not taking a loss if you damage him. He was intact when I brought him in for inspection. It isn't my fault you ended the party before I had the chance to test his sexual abilities. I get paid, the full amount, for delivering him."

His stomach sank.

What the hell had he gotten himself into? The panic flared bright and sharp in his chest. He had to get away from these people! He had to get away!

He renewed his thrashing. Clumsy and unskillfully, trapped as he was in Dieter's hold. Coughing and growling. Shifting and kicking. Bucking and shaking. It was like fighting a concrete slab glued to his back.

In the second he paused in his struggling to adjust his footing, the attack came on. In full force.

A knee came up, driving into his midsection. Then another. What little breath he had left in his body was forced out. His vision went dark with bright splotches as he tried to suck air into his gaping mouth. His lungs screamed as his stomach contracted with pain, making his knees shake. A string of crimson saliva dangled from his lower lip. His throbbing head spun. His body convulsed as his lungs squeezed and struggled for air. His feet stumbled and knocked into one another.

Someone kicked his ankles, knocking his feet out from under him. Dieter propped him up as fists alternated with legs and feet pummeled him in blows and kicks. Mercilessly, they beat him. Without end, they hammered into him. Taking turns flogging him senseless.

Until; finally, he hung limp and without resistance in the giants arms.

Half-unconscious, he vaguely felt himself dropped. The world tumbled. It seemed to take a long time before his battered body made contact with the floor. When he landed, pain cramped through his body in electric waves. The vibrations of the music came like prickling fingers through his flesh and shell. But sound was muffled by the racing of his blood through his ears. Ringing with deafening resonance.

His fingers clawed weakly alongside his tear-streaked face. His toes clumsily sought leverage as he tried to crawl away, but only succeeded in writhing on the floor. He gagged. He closed his eyes, trying desperately to breathe. Trying to get his body to move correctly.

Thinking only,_ Donnie,_ _Donnie. Oh god, I screwed up, Donnie. I screwed up._

A foot kicked him in the face. The world turned white. Bleached of color. Alive with anguish. He rolled to one side, barely registering the crippling pain as it pulsed from his bloodied snout through his skull to the back of his head. His mouth filled with blood. He was drowning in it. His vision went dark and cleared, then doubled.

He made a congested squeak and choked.

Someone grabbed his ankles and began dragging him from the room. His head bumped against the divider between the hall and living room.

His eyes rolled and he moaned. Mouth opening and closing as he tried to breathe. Making small strangled, gurgling noises. His fingers tried loosely to catch hold of something to stop them from taking him wherever it was he was being taken to.

He tried to speak; to protest, but he could only groan meekly between wheezing. The thin breath he was able to take coming out in a high, thin whine of pain. The sound of shame. Defeat.

His face tipped to one side as his body's movement paused. Tears blinded him as they spilled over his swollen face. Through his blurred vision, he made out a woman, strangely familiar, standing in the doorway.

Her eyes were wide and round in terror. She was staring at him with a hand over her mouth.

He heard voices but couldn't understand what they were saying.

Then Fiona's sharp voice cut through the fog, "Bonnie, I told you to stay in the room until I came to get you for our flight."

_Bonnie? Where did he know that name?_

But it didn't matter. The edges of his vision darkened. His grasp on reality was slipping. He was receding through a long dark tunnel.

In the center of the light, Dieter's face came into view as it hovered over him. He felt the man's thick fingers slap his cheek several times. His vision cleared a bit. Then his face was grabbed roughly. His cheeks squeezed until the blood welled and choked him once again. He flailed tepidly, but could only writhe and weep.

There came a prick at the side of his neck.

He struggled feebly before feeling his entire body grow cold. Dieter's face returned.

Mikey blinked up at him as his eyes glazed and the world grew distant. The giant looming over him, however, remained in focus. In all his cruel glory.

Mikey wanted to spit in the guy's face, swear at him with the worst words he'd ever heard Raphael utter in his darkest mood.

"_Rghhlghk_," Mikey muttered weakly.

The man's face broke into a riot of lines as he grinned, reminding Mikey of a wrinkled pumpkin.

"I didn't catch that. You'll have to speak clearer." The man slapped him again, Mikey barely felt it.

Mikey rolled his shoulders and lifted his head from the floor by half an inch. His fingers felt heavy and clumsy as he grappled with the man's pant leg. Laughter pelted him. Mocking his sad attempt to fight them.

Fiona's disembodied voice floated over him, "Will you stop playing with him. You ruined my chance at fun, you shouldn't have any, either."

"You can have fun with me later, Fiona," Dieter grinned above Mikey wolfishly. A hand swatted at him.

Mikey wanted with all his might to punch the guy in the face. He reached out, shaking tremendously. After a second, he slumped back. All his strength fled. His eyes rolled up and the world went black.

Dieter looked down and said, "Nighty-night, little freak."

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the long delay! I appreciate your patience and would happily make your favorite dessert and mail it to you to show my gratitude.*

*Shipping and handling extra. Extra for overnight delivers. Cannot ship outside my mind.

XD

It's gonna go dark, folks. I'm just warning ya'll right now. It's remaining T, but it's gonna go dark. Real soon. And a certain salamander mutant is gonna make her long-awaited debut! Yay!

Don't forget to participate in the 2014 Stealthystories Fanfiction Competition! Voting on winners will begin soon. For the ballot and other information or just for hanging with a few fellow fans of TMNT - find a link on my profile or search google for Stealthystories II. It comes right up! xo


	11. Weak

**Chapter 11 – Weak**

* * *

Leonardo's legs were afire with stabbing pins and needles. His hands were numb where they were twisted behind his shell; held in place by thick plastic zip-ties. They bit sharply into his flesh. His stomach a knot of anxiety. His chest tight with restrained fury. His breath wheezed between gritted teeth. His thrumming heart tremulous with worry; weak with fear.

Sweat trickled down the sides of his face seeping from the drenched fabric of his mask. The cool wind whipped through the opening of the helicopter's sides. Buffeted, the sweat jittered down over his jaw to drip and spatter between his splayed legs, mingling with the blood he lost from the earlier scuffle.

He ignored these discomforts, focusing on his breathing; doing his best to keep his heart rate as calm as possible. Saving his strength. He would need it. When the opportunity arose to escape, he had to be ready. He would not fail them. Not again. He would get them all free from these lunatics.

Karai and his unborn child were depending on him.

The soldier on his left shifted, sniffed once, and mumbled something in German to the other at his right. Though they were dressed as Foot, they were Venom's men. Leonardo considered the sorry state of his enemy's organization. When did Shredder lose control? How did it happen? He didn't know. Didn't care.

"Hässliche Stück Scheibe." (Ugly piece of shit.)

The man jabbed Leonardo's cheek with the hilt of a dagger.

Leo stayed still, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he swallowed back the growl building at the base of his throat. Venom or Foot, English, Japanese or German, it didn't matter. The tone told Leonardo of the derision, the disgust, the hatred these men felt towards him for simply existing.

Things would never change. He and his family, Karai, and his child, his innocent baby – his heart pinched - would remain forever outside acceptance; tolerance. The only place in all the world where they'd be safe was contingent upon the delicate question of his father's approval. The familiar dread of his master's feelings regarding his beloved rose up. But once he saw that Karai was his wife, carrying his son's child, Splinter had to accept that she was family. He had to.

The opposite man grunted in response, snapping Leo to attention. Then, "Ja. Warum gehen wir nicht das verdammte Ding einfach zu töten?" (Yes. Why don't we just kill the damn thing?)

They'd kept him in this awkward position on his knees, head forward, low and pinned by one ninja's gorilla-sized hand for the past three hours. He felt the man who responded, the one holding his head down from behind his shell, squeeze his neck and give it a sharp shake.

Leo resisted, jaw clenched, but felt himself pressed further down between his knees. The strain increased between his shoulder blades, pressure sent electric pain up through his arms. He closed his eyes, started to growl but stopped himself again.

_Stay calm_, he ordered mentally.

The one who spoke first chuckled darkly, "Nein, Sophia macht zu viel Geld aus dem Verkauf des Fleisches von Freak wie diese." (No. Sophia makes too much money from the sale of meat from freak like this.)

"Ja. Und er ist fruchtbar." (Yes. And he's fertile.) Leo felt him shudder and frowned. "Jesus. Shredder Tochter ist eine böse kleine Schlampe." (Shredder's daughter is a nasty little slut.)

He must have said something amusing for the one who'd spoken first barked a rough burst of laughter before falling quiet once more.

Leonardo made a silent vow to kill every single person who laid a hand on his wife. Starting with everyone in this helicopter.

Including the woman, Sophia.

He could only raise his eyes far enough to see that Karai lay slumped where she passed out hours ago, with one guard crouched over her, blade at the ready in a hand slung over one knee. The sight deepened his distress, but he could not help but check on her every few seconds for any sign that she was awakening or worsening. Though there was little he could do if she stirred.

They dipped suddenly and Leonardo felt his stomach flip as they began to descend with steady swiftness. Sophia said something to the pilot who replied with a nod. The roar of the engine and thumping blades drowned out whatever it was they were saying to one another. Leo understood as the men around him braced themselves for landing.

_Stay calm. You need a clear head to plan._

But as the helicopter tipped again and dipped, the occupants bounced. Leonardo glued his fearful eyes on Karai. Her body jumped and shifted, rolling further from his reach as they came down. He shifted forward on his knees before he was stopped roughly. His chin slammed into the floor as the ninja gripping his neck stopped his forward momentum with a crack to the back of his skull.

All he saw was his wife's body edging away from him. _She was going to fall if he didn't stop her!_

He struggled, filled with terror. She was going to roll right out of the dark opening of the copter and no one would stop her from going over. These bastards wouldn't care.

"Mmph," Leo thrashed against the floor, but he was pinned firmly.

Perspiration glistened across his flesh as he strained against the ninja's hold on his neck to keep watch over his wife. He grunted; groaning with stifled exertion. Muscles throughout his legs and arms bunched and tautened.

_"Nngh! She's going to - Ngh!"_

He could only watch from the corner of one widened eye as the copter tipped first to one side – and her body slid frighteningly close to the opening before the guard next to her put out his boot against her forehead to stop her – then to the other. The ninja leaned between her and the darkness sweeping beyond, peering into the night towards their destination.

"Can't see shit in this dark," the man mumbled. In the far distance, a streak of purple lightning cut through the sky.

Leo tried to remember how to breathe; huffing through gritted teeth; body rigid with fright and impotent rage.

_Stay calm. Stay calm._

The helicopter righted itself and moments later touched down with a bump and a lurch before vibrating violently and leveling out to a steady thrum. The blades slowed to a reverberating _thumpf-thum, thumpf-thum_ before stopping altogether.

No sooner did it make contact with the landing pad that it was met with a small crowd of ninja wearing Venom's uniforms: dark blue with black boots and matching gloves; the serpentine symbol of their clan embroidered upon their left breasts over their hearts. In each gloved fist, automatic rifles. Katanas strapped across each one's back; silver belt buckles gleamed in the silver moonlight.

One of them helped Sophia from the cabin. "Frau Brokker," he addressed her as he raised his hand to assist her. His face was bare, unobscured by a mask. He had a pock-marked face, short nose and thick brows. His sandy-blonde hair was cropped short. He stood several inches above Sophia. Dark, deep-set eyes regarded her with respect. One was covered by a black eye-patch.

"Is everything in place in the medical ward, Ormand?" she asked. "I radioed ahead with the situation."

The man named Ormand pinched a radio on the belt attached to a strap running over his shoulder. Speaking into it in German, the reply was instant, if not riddled with static. He looked up and nodded to Sophia. "Ja. Everything is in place. Your brother is waiting for confirmation of arrival."

She glanced back at the copter and rolled her eyes. "I know how anxious he is to get his little vengeance meeting over with," she sighed. "Let him know the girl has arrived," she sighed and emphasized, "_alive_. And that I'm on my way down to see him."

"Of course."

"Oh," she said, remembering, "Get any extra men you have over to the hangar."

"Hm?"

"The mutant is unpredictable and skilled."

He chuckled. His eye twinkled. "Ah, ja. The little turtle. I'm sure I can handle the creature."

Sophia grew stern. "Do not understatement him. He is fighting for more than just his survival." She glanced aside to the vehicle then back to Ormand.

With a contrite expression he inclined his head. "I understand fully, Frau Brokker. I will exercise utmost caution."

He signaled to the men near the helicopter. "Get down to the other side of the compound," he ordered. The group broke ranks hoofing it past Sophia and Ormand.

Satisfied, Sophia turned away and walked the short way to a metal double door of the roof access shed. Both doors opened as she reached it. She stepped aside as several dark-skinned women wearing scrubs emerged. Their faces were obscured by breathing masks. Between them rolled a stretcher loaded on one end with emergency medical equipment.

"The girl needs assistance immediately," Sophia said in fluent Spanish, indicating the helicopter with a loose wave of her hand. Then to herself, "Unless she's done us all a favor and bled out on the ride up. Of course that would only piss off Marcus."

They nodded their understanding as one, keeping their heads lowered in deference as they passed Sophia. She turned and watched from just outside the door, arms crossed.

The breeze flapped her pants legs hard against her as it turned sharply into a gust. She glanced, squinting into the night air. Her blonde hair billowed around her shoulders. Tendrils of it brushing her face. The scent of it was fresh, briny, with an undertone kissed of ozone. A promise of bad weather creeping out of sight, but closing in.

"There's no storm in the forecast, is there, Ormand?" she asked.

He looked up from where he stood, directly the nurses. "Frau Brokker, uh," he started, moving towards her only to hesitate as though afraid to continue. Making up his mind, he came closer. Speaking low and quick, "There are reports of a category three hurricane off the coast of Aruba."

She straightened, "What?! Why the hell didn't someone tell me?"

"It is nowhere near the island. I assure you we are in no danger whatsoever," he went on hastily. "However," he started before she could relax completely, the frown deeply creasing her brow, "there are conflicting reports coming in as to the trajectory of the storm. They are not sure if it will diminish before reaching Jamaica or strengthen. Veer off towards the Dominican Republic or . . . head in our direction."

She dropped her forehead into one hand, braced by the elbow in her opposite. _"Fantastich."_

"If that is the case . . . It may be prudent to evacuate unless you plan on hunkering down with the occupants herein. I can provide excellent protection should you decide –"

"Christ." She waved her hand, cutting him off. "Forget it. I'm off this island the first chance I get." Her mouth curled into an ugly sneer, "The sooner the better. Whores make me ill. And whore houses are the nuclei of disease. Of mind and body."

Ormand chuckled.

Her brow arched. "Something funny about that?"

He cleared his throat and rocked on his toes. "Nein, Frau. Only," he coughed, "it is incredibly profitable, what your brother has created here. Venom's research and development of weaponry is all funded by this operation."

She rolled her eyes, rubbing her arms.

_"Aheh_, pardon, Frau Brokker. But what you consider a," he quoted the air, "den of disease is one of the most sought after, most esteemed, and highly exclusive and secretive resorts in all the world. Do you know how much Marcus charges for a single night. Do you have any idea what men, and some women, are willing to pay for a single hour with some of our more . . . special attractions? Ja, good money."

She shuddered. "I don't care. It sickens me. I'm off this pile of shit excuse for an island as soon as I can be."

Her blue eyes scanned the open sky, dark and filled with stars. Calm and tranquil. Unassuming as a snake coiled around a nest.

"And if I have to drag my brother by the nose, he's coming with me. He can have his little chat or whatever it is he plans on with the little wretch, then he is _leaving_," she said with a flash in her eyes, her accent growing stronger with her agitation. "Staying in this place is no good. Not for him. Not after all he's," she trailed off, then shook her head. "Nevermind. We're done here."

She started to move inside, the wind rustling her clothes as she hugged herself. But she stopped, hesitating just inside the doorway. She twisted around and glanced from the helicopter to Ormand.

"One last thing."

"Ja, Frau, anything you wish."

"Listen to me, I want to be there," she said and pulled an errant strand of hair from her upper lip, "when they . . . what is it they do? Oh yes, when they evaluate the mutant. I want to see for myself," she caught herself then and snapped her hard gaze at the man, "I want to be there, understand."

The man seemed confused. "Frau?"

"The captive. The mutant reptile," she clarified. "He's no doubt going to be considered as an addition to this sick menagerie. Though he is not docile in the least. So I have my concerns. However, when my brother learns of Karai's condition, perhaps, he'll be kept for," her brow arched, "breeding stock."

He glanced over his shoulder, then back to her. "_Erstaunlich_! He's fertile!?"

"Seems to be the case. We'll learn more when we cut that thing, whatever it is, out of the Shredder's daughter."

# # #

Inside the copter, women with their lower faces covered by medical masks were removing Karai. As her body shifted, she moaned. Fighting weakly. Mumbling.

Leonardo struggled frantically beneath the men's hands and arms holding him down. Bucking and straining. His growling filled the air, but the women paid him or his struggle or any of the grunting, growling, snarling that was coming from him no mind. In fact, they hadn't seemed to even notice a large mutant turtle being restrained inside the cramped cabin of the helicopter. And if they did, they hadn't been surprised or concerned.

Leo twisted to one side, barreling for leverage, but the men held him back as his wife was taken down from the interior. Her leg had dragged through the pool of blood, leaving a wide streak.

Leo's voice cracked as he shouted between being punched in the face, "No! No! Where are you taking her?!" He swung his head back and hit something with a crack. A volley of German curse words struck him as a knee came up, slamming into his middle. _"Guh!"_

The women kept their heads down, unwilling or unable to answer him as they strapped Karai to the cot. Her head lolled as she tried to raise her chin and her eyelids fluttered. "Mmph, Leo?"

He started at the sound of his name, renewed his thrashing only to see her from the corner of his eye being wheeled away across the expanse of a roof.

"No - NO! Karai! Karai! Ka –"

A man lurched up into the space, filling the interior, blocking Leonardo's line of sight. He was thick-set beneath the Venom uniform and grinning behind an eye patch.

Leo wrestled, but was pinned back by the two guards. A hand held his forehead back at a sharp angle. A blade pressed to his throat. He stilled, breathing rapidly from exertion and fear. His breath burst in violent gusts from between his grinding teeth.

"I'm told to be careful around you. Not to underestimate you," he said in a thickly accented voice. He crouched, reaching up to take hold of a looped strap as the helicopter jolted. He smirked. "I am not worried. I think you and I will be gute fruends. Very gute. Ja?"

The pilot said something into the radio. He flicked several switches and the engine seemed to rev to life once more. They jittered and bounced and the air was filled with the sound of the blades whirling to life. Spinning faster by the second.

Leo's eyes widened as his stomach sank. "Where, _chkk_ -" he choked as the man yanked on his head, pressing the edge of the blade into his throat, drawing a line of blood.

"Do not worry, kleiner fruend." His eye twinkled. "We are only going to the hangar for refueling and inspection for repairs."

Leonardo's breath huffed from gritted teeth, puffing his cheeks with the effort. "And Karai?" he asked, hating how his voice warbled, but unable to help it.

"She is going to infirmary. Will be well cared for. Kleiner fruend, did I not say to not worry?" His grin deepened and the pocked marks creased across his face, pinching around the eye patch. "We are not cruel here. We offer comfort in a mad, mad world. And sanctuary for, unique specimens, like yourself."

Leonardo involuntarily shut his eyes as the helicopter took a sudden dip, descending.

"Not far, see? Just as I said. You will learn to trust me, kleiner fruend." He nodded to the ninja on Leo's right and he felt the man release him, before he could use the opening to his advantage, he was struck in the temple.

There was a flash and then only darkness.

# # #

He stood outside the apartment, leaning on his truck's dented passenger side, a cigarette dangled, unlit from his bottom lip. He scratched at his stubbled chin.

"Ah, shit."

He lit the cigarette, took a long drag and flicked the ash to one side.

"Why am I standing here wastin' my time?"

He wasn't exactly welcome.

He should just head back. It was in his best interest. If one of Leo's brothers caught him in the city he was sure to get an ass kicking. It had been a few months, just as Raph had told him. Laying low, out of the picture. Sure, he messed up. But it wasn't exactly done on purpose. He'd only meant to do good for the city. How the hell could he have predicted the shit turn everything would take?

He ran a hand through his dark hair, chewing on one corner of his mouth before sticking the cigarette back into place.

The rumbling of traffic down the block was punctuated by the shrill cry of an ambulance. Voices mingled with light laughter reached him and he spied a group of kids walking towards him. They turned and climbed the stone steps of a house a few doors down. He pulled out his cell and checked the time again.

"Why am I wastin' my time?" he asked himself again as he moved to shut the phone off.

Instead, his thumb streaked across the screen and an image of her face filled it. His breath caught. It was an older shot, but one of his favorites.

It was up at the farm house, before. Before all hell broke loose. Before Leo had gotten involved with that Foot girl. Before Venom. Before he jacked everything up. When it was just simple. Uncomplicated. When things were just starting up between them. Him and her.

The sun made her hair positively glow. All copper and firey, just like her personality. She'd just caught a trout from the lake and had a look of triumph and delight that made her eyes sparkle and her freckles dance across her peach skin. Casey felt his heart stumble.

He'd messed up, thanks mostly to his stupid-ass cousin, but he'd loved her. He really had. And he lost her, because he'd been stupid. Weak.

He sniffed and ran his thumb lightly over the screen. It went black.

He jabbed it into his pocket and pinched the cigarette between finger and thumb, tossing it away. He crossed the sidewalk and skipped up the front step of her building. He jiggled the handle and found it unlocked. As he stepped into the front of the second-hand shop, he noticed the lock was cracked.

A thought hit him, he could fix that for her. At least offer to, no charge, no strings. He closed the door behind him and wove through the stacks of antiques to the back door behind and off to one side of the counter. This door led to the flight of stairs up to her apartment.

He considered waiting on the lower step for her to get home from wherever she might be, but decided to go up and meet her at her door. His boots scuffed on the steps.

He'd say hello and offer to fix that broken lock. And then, he'd apologize. Because that's what he really wanted. He wanted to tell her he was sorry. For everything. For messing up. For taking for granted the good that they had when they had it. For not loving her the way she needed. Just – for everything.

Then he'd never talk to her again if that's how she wanted it. It would be okay with him. No hard feelings. He'd swear it. Move to Jersey, even. Whatever she wanted.

That's all. Didn't he deserve that? To have the opportunity to apologize the right way?

She loved him once, hadn't she? Or was that all just make-believe. Nah, he didn't buy it. The times they were together, those were good times. He knew he made her happy, for a little while.

And he knew he didn't deserve one more minute of her time. But he had to apologize. It was the right thing to do. It was closure.

He'd loved her once with everything he had and it wasn't much. That was true. But it was real. What he felt. There was no doubt. He loved her. Once.

The bitch of it was, he still did.

He stopped at her apartment's interior door. Then raised his fist to knock with his knuckles, in case he was wrong and she was, in fact, home. As his knuckle struck the door, however, he found it wasn't closed or locked. It swung open.

"April?" he asked, frowning, as he eased into her living room.

Eyes darting around, he didn't see anything amiss. Would April have gotten so lazy as to not even lock her doors when she went out? That didn't seem right.

The sound of china clinking had him freezing in place. It wasn't a distressing sound, but a domestic one. What the hell? He glanced at the open door behind him, then back towards the kitchen. More sounds of dishes lightly clinking together. A shadow flitted across the back of the hallway's far end.

He moved determinedly towards the sounds. "April, it's me, Casey. I'm sorry to barge in, but you gotta be kiddin' me, leavin' your door – your . . . door," he trailed off as he came to an abrupt halt.

"Casey!?"

April stood to one side of her table, tea pot in one mittened hand. She looked pale, shaken and scared but unharmed as far as he could tell.

At the table, in full armor, mask and helmet removed to the side of a tea cup, leaning back in repose, sat the Shredder.

* * *

**A/N:** First my LeoxApril story, Courage of the Heart and now this one - two updates in one day?!

Say it with me: Boo-Ya-Ka-SHA!

heehee, I love putting Shredder in domestic settings. Especially all geared up in his spikes and cape and such. ^.^)

Well, we've gotten a bit of a clue as to what shenanigans are gotten up to at this island, the plans for Leonardo, Casey's need for setting things right and his aching heartbreak, along with a new menace, Ormand (who I kinda love and is based off loosely more or less off of Mikhail from LOST, heh heh heh, only German, not Russian) and I had to brush up on a lot of German to give a bit of authenticity to some of the dialogue.

Ormand calls Leo, 'little friend' if you didn't guess by context.

Thank you for reading - and thank you to everyone who voted for my stories and just participated in the 2014 StealthyStories Fanfiction Competition - it means so much to me! And CONGRATS to all the wonderful authors who were nominated and who placed! Woo! Our fandom ROCKS!

xo


	12. For Better or Worse, Brothers

"It is a dangerous thing with brothers, to think that you could be as strong as them, or as wise as them, or as good as them. To believe that you could have been the same person, if only you hadn't gone a different way." - David Levithan,_ Are we There Yet?_

* * *

**Chapter 12 - For Better or Worse, Brothers**

* * *

Donatello glanced with heavy-lidded eyes at the cell sitting next to the jumbled file folders. The blinking screen fluttered chartreuse lines over the side of his face in the dark room. His fingertips padded in a nervous tick against his thighs. He leaned forward in his chair to get a better look, just in case he somehow missed the message light blinking.

He hadn't.

There was no light to indicate she'd called and he'd somehow missed it.

He slumped back. With one finger, he rubbed at his dry, red-rimmed eye and yawned. These all-night shifts coupled by his inability to nap during the day were beginning to wear him down. There was a tickle at the back of his throat.

"Can't get sick," he muttered, clearing his throat.

It had been two days since April stormed out of the lair. Two days without sleep. Two days of going over what he'd heard her yelling at his brothers. And over. And over. Two days of replaying the anger he'd felt at finding her in his father's room. Justifying it.

Two days of wishing she'd call; wondering if he should just bite the bullet and be the first to apologize, but feeling that he'd not been in the wrong: he specifically asked her not to mention she was spending some nights with him in the lair and to keep a wide berth from his father.

He'd told her in no uncertain terms that Splinter's health was in a fragile state. That upsetting him would make everything worse. Everything harder on _him_. And yet, there she was, making his life much more difficult than he needed.

Two days that felt like two weeks filled with nothing but stress: work and family-related.

With a final, hopeful glance at his still unblinking phone, he sighed, and his gaze went back to the computer screen. Back to work. He scrolled through the night's call log, not really paying attention to the list of issues resolved and the much longer list of those still pending.

Douglas' warning about leaving customers with unresolved problems longer than twenty-four hours would mean a write up reverberated somewhere in the recesses of his muddled mind. The last chew-out he'd endured still rung in the back of his mind. The last thing he needed was another hour-long bitch session from his high-strung boss. Douglas wasn't going to be happy when he logged on today.

Donatello frowned. "So what," he muttered with a grimace.

But he scooted the chair forward a bit and re-examined the log which was accessible to his boss in real time. With a quick count there were eight resolved. Eight. That wasn't bad.

He scrolled down.

"Hm."

His stomach sank.

Fourteen unresolved. Six of them coming in at over thirty-six hours and counting.

_Shit._

He sat back with a grunt.

Douglas was going to have kittens. Since the last screw up, he'd been put on probation. He'd be lucky if he wasn't fired by the end of the day. His eyes rolled up to the ceiling as he quickly estimated the time it would be in London. His boss should be in the office by now.

"Hm." He double checked his personal chat box. Nothing.

Then he remembered that Douglas had mentioned going on holiday. A tired grin spread over his face. That bought him some time. A week's worth. He could fix all this mess by then.

That womanizing, over-bloated hippo of a man wouldn't have anything to complain about if all these issues were handled by the time he got back. Well. Donatello was sure Douglas would find something to whine about as far as his work performance went.

"You know what?" Don asked the room. "I don't give a damn one way or another."

If he didn't need the paycheck so badly he'd have written a virus that would have infected the entire company, bringing down their system while exposing his boss of the various frauds that Donatello had strong suspicions were occurring every day.

If he didn't need the check. Which he did. And if he wasn't completely distracted by the cell phone laying still and lifeless within arm's reach. Which he was.

His gaze shifted back to his phone. _I should call her. _He reached forward, only to hesitate. He rolled his fingers back into a fist and lightly pounded the top-most file. He rested his forehead on his forearm, peering under it at the phone.

_No. I don't have anything to apologize for._

He turned back to the work station. He logged off with sharp movements; his fingers clacking against the keys. The problems could wait.

"I need some caffeine."

He pushed away from the desk and ripped the headset from his head. It clattered across the keyboard and knocked an empty coffee cup to one side. Standing there, looking around with sleepy eyes and rubbing the sides of his head where the headset had imprinted slightly, he noticed how sloppy his work area had gotten.

He started to collect the empty Styrofoam cups, empty food containers and crumpled papers into his arms. When he turned to stuff them into the wastebasket, he noticed it was overflowing with garbage.

"Sheesh."

With a shake of his head, he headed out of his make-shift office, towards the kitchen; casting one last quick glimpse at the silent, dark phone. His brows dropped into a frown and he huffed.

At the threshold of the kitchen, his footsteps faltered.

Raph looked up from the table.

Their eyes met momentarily before Donatello turned his head, frown deepening, and Raph went back to the wrinkled paper spread across the table. Donatello moved to the side of the fridge. His foot kicked into an empty pizza box. Nudging it closer to the can, he huffed in aggravation. He shoved the garbage into the can, noting it could use an empting.

He straightened up, placed the empty pizza box tentatively atop the pile. He turned. "Hey, take this out to the dump."

Raph's brow cocked, but he didn't look up. "Tell Mikey."

Donatello bristled. "I'm telling you."

Raph brought his face up slowly.

They stared at one another, unblinking, until Donatello fidgeted and turned back around. He opened a cabinet and removed a bag of coffee. He gave it a shake, still feeling the hard stare of his brother on his shell. Continuing to ignore the silent challenge, he nonchalantly measured several shakes of the grounds into the paper cone. He cleared his throat and glanced up at the clock.

"Since you were up, did you happen to make Splinter's breakfast?" When he didn't get a response, he turned. "Raph."

Raphael shook his head, eyes locked on the paper. "Wut."

"Did you make Splinter his breakfast?" he asked, annunciating every syllable.

"What does it look like to you?" Under his breath, he muttered, "For a genius, you sure are oblivious."

Donatello stomped over and yanked the paper out of his brother's grip. He crumpled it with his fingers and tossed it to the floor. "It looks like you're doing what you always do around here."

Raphael's voice was low, dangerous. "And what's that?"

Donatello leaned forward, bracing his palms against the surface of the table. "Nothing."

Raph's eyes bounced back and forth between his brother's. Then, slowly, he rose up, waved his hand through the air and said, "I don't need this." The chair legs scratched against the floor. He stared hard at Donatello for another second before turning away, dismissively. Limping, he headed for the living room, one hand cupping his side.

"You mean you don't want to hear the truth."

Raph stopped. He twisted part of the way and winced. Thinking better of it, he turned back and kept going into the living room. Don was pushing it, but he wasn't exactly up for a spat. Besides, they'd beaten this particular horse to pulp. He rolled his eyes as his brother went on.

"Is it so much to ask that you take the garbage out? Or maybe, I dunno, help take care of our father? Put on a kettle or throw some bread in the toaster? Since you've finally decided to grace the lair with your presence for longer than a three hour block, I guess I'm in the wrong to ask for a little help."

Raph heaved a sigh. His entire side ached and he wondered if he'd developed an infection from the bullet wound. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. And every now and then, he'd feel a dizzy spell come on that he did his best to ignore, but secretly, he was starting to worry.

The night had been spent in a haze of trying to get comfortable enough to sleep. All he'd managed was to doze off for a few minutes at a time, and when he did he dreamt weird shit. Snippets of the dreams fluttered through his mind: Bonnie and Mikey arguing about Leo graduating from college; Casey babbling about Splinter's balding, and a news report flashing beyond on an enormous projector screen.

The vision on the screen blurring but one thing was clear: the Nightwatcher was hung, turning in a slow circle under an overpass.

What the actual fuck? He shook his head.

". . . and the lair is a mess. Just look at this pig sty." Donatello hadn't taken a breath it seemed.

"Christ, Donnie. Listen to yourself. You sound like an old woman."

"I wouldn't have to nag if you'd help. It's that simple. I don't know how many times I have to spell this out for you. Even Mikey gets it."

"Lay off me. Will ya? I'm too tired for your old maid shit."

Donatello's bark of a laugh was harsh. "Tired?! Tired? From doing what? Sleeping forty-six hours out of every forty-eight? And sorry to have to remind you of this fact again," Donatello said as he marched up to stand behind Raph, "but you _do_ have to listen to whatever shit I need to give you. I'm the one in charge around here."

He gripped his brother by the shoulder and spun Raph around to face him. Donatello would've been surprised he was even able to had he not been so angry.

Raphael staggered a bit before righting himself. His face was a mask of pain that quickly smoothed into something like a muffled grimace. When his narrow eyes landed on Donatello's, they were glassy with pain. He snorted. "Finally grown a pair, eh? 'Bout time. No wonder April's been so pissed at cha' since ya been such a bitch."

Donatello cocked his fist back and swung it.

It connected.

Raph didn't even duck.

Donatello stared with open-mouthed shock between his throbbing fist and his brother's head slowly rolling back in place as he stumbled and righted himself.

Raph's eyes were closed as he rubbed his jaw. His free hand cupped his side and he wobbled where he stood, swaying from side to side as if he were keeping his balance on a rocking boat.

Donatello's moment of shock was immediately replaced by righteous fury. He wondered if this was how Leonardo had felt when he'd finally lost control when dealing with Raph. A sort of horror mixed with exultant rectitude. _The son of a bitch deserved it._

"That's enough! I'm done with the attitude. Enough of your mouth. You're tired?! You don't do anything around here. And every time I actually need some help, you-you," he started only to clamp his mouth shut before he really got started.

Raph had pitched precariously to one side and, like a tower of bricks, toppled over.

With wide eyes, Donatello dropped. The fury still bubbled beneath the surface, but now mingled with concern. He knelt besides his brother. "Raph!" He slapped his brother's bruised cheek only to wince in empathy and switch to lightly patting the opposite one with the back of his hand. "Raph?"

His brother groaned.

"What's wrong with you?" he snapped. Then, more gently, "I know I didn't hit you that hard."

Raph made a sound that might have been a chuckle but it was hard to tell over the sound of his cursing mingling with painful groaning.

Donatello's eyes swept over his supine brother. They landed on the thick bandage on his brother's side, tinged with crimson. He hissed a breath. How did he miss that? In two days, how did he not notice his brother was sporting a wound that took up most of his left side?

He reached down and started to pick at the corner. Raph's hand gripped his wrist.

"Don't."

Donatello pressed his mouth into a line. "How bad?"

Raph shielded his eyes with his free hand. Slowly, he released Donatello's wrist. He dropped his arm to the floor and sighed.

"Raph," Donnie warned.

Raphael blinked rapidly as though he were clearing his vision. He shook his head and made a soft non-committal grunt and something like a shrug.

"Do I need to punch you again?"

This time a wry smile crossed Raph's face before dropping away with his breathy answer, "'S not bad. Casey took care of it."

"Casey."

Donatello sat back on his haunches. He rested his hands on his thighs and closed his eyes, gathering his composure. His stubborn, foolish brother had driven out an hour out of the city to be cared for by that dope instead of coming straight home.

_Why?_

He lurched forward and with one quick, brutal movement, tore the bandage off Raph's side.

Raph squirmed and hollered, "Fuck, Don! A little warning would be nice."

Donatello took a double take and leaned forward. He sat back with a hiss.

"That looks like a gunshot wound."

"Yeah."

"You were shot."

Raph nodded as much as he could in his position.

"Shot," he repeated.

"No shit. And here I thought it was a bug bite."

Donatello ignored his brother's attempt at bravado. This was bad. He reached out and gently padded the swollen flesh puffed around the stitches. "Infected, too."

Raph rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. He grunted at Don's touch, light as it was, it sent flashes of light across his closed lids. "Was afraid of that."

"This is why you finally came home. Nearly dying."

Raph rolled his head around to look at his brother. Donatello's face was turned his way, but his eyes were locked on the festering wound in his brother's side. His expression was grim but there was something beneath that look, something like defeat.

"Nah," Raph breathed. "It's not like that."

Donatello's eyes rolled to meet Raph's pained stare. "Oh?"

"I didn't even want to come home." Raph explained, "Casey made me."

Donatello's expression soured. His face grew dark. "So, even getting shot wasn't enough to bring you back here with me in charge. It's that bad, huh? You'd risk bleeding out rather than coming back here and asking me for help."

Raph blinked. "N-No, bro. I didn't mean it like that."

Don's laughed out, "Right."

"It came out wrong."

He started to get up, but Don shoved him back. His head hit the floor and the room spun. He groaned.

"Save it." Donatello got up. "Don't move."

"I didn't wanna bother you with somethin' so . . ."

"Stupid?"

"Yeah."

"Right. Your life. Stupid. Got it." He pinched the bridge of his snout and crunched his eyes tightly closed. He held up his finger and pointed to the ceiling as he said, "My role – temporary though it is - as head of the clan means nothing to you, as you've so blatantly proven time and again," Raph opened his mouth to argue, but Donatello went on, glaring down at him, "and now it appears my medical prowess is unwanted as well."

His voice dropped, "I guess I'm really that bad at this."

Raphael said nothing. He rested his head back against the floor. He huffed a sigh. "I'm tellin' ya, it ain't like that."

Donatello looked out into the living room. He shook his head, mouth turning down. "First Mikey decides he doesn't need my help and now this crap from you."

Raph stared up at him. "Geez, Don. Don't take it that way. 'S not personal."

"Not personal, huh."

"C'mon. I just need a little space to do my thing."

"Your thing? Like getting yourself shot? Bleeding to death on the highway? That's your thing now?"

Don shifted his weight onto his heels. His eyes glazed for a moment, looking at nothing in the room, remembering something he'd seen on television. When they snapped back to Raph, they were full of suspicion.

"You run into that vigilante running around the city being shot at? That Nightwitcher guy?"

"Nightwatcher," Raph grunted through clenched teeth, as he gingerly pawed at his oozing wound. His gaze shot to his side, avoiding Donatello's eyes. "And nah, never seen 'em."

"City's not that big. Would be hard not to cross paths, I would think, considering his targets are some of our old friends. The Foot. Venom. The remnants of the Dragons. And he'd probably not take too kindly to seeing a large mutant running around. Funny that you two never met."

Raph glared up at him, keeping his mouth shut, until, "Your point?"

"Just making sure he's not the reason you were shot."

Raph's eyes met Don's. "Can we just skip to the part where you patch me up here, I'm leaking puss on the floor."

"Right. Patch you up so you can run out and do it all over again. Are you in such a hurry to get yourself killed before Leo gets back? Easier to die than to deal with him getting back."

Though he was glad to have the change in subject, he didn't care for where it now turned. "I ain't got a death wish, if that's what you're implyin'." Raph's face darkened. Eyes narrowing.

"And this ain't about Leo."

"No? That's funny. Because I seem to recall that your rebellious behavior, your revisit to the teenaged angst and restlessness started up again right about a week or so after Leo left."

"That got nothin' to do with nothin'." He fidgeted, squirming against the floor. "Will ya just get me – You know what," he growled, "I'll just do it myself!" He started to rise. "Fuck! Outta my way."

Donatello pressed his brother's head back down to the floor with his foot only to have it smacked away by Raph's hand.

"Stay put!"

"Stick your foot in my face one more time and you'll be hobbling out the rest of your life. You got that?!"

Donatello sniffed derisively as he turned away muttering under his breath. He stormed into the kitchen and stooped before the sink. "A mutiny," Donatello spat. "That's what I have here. A few months in charge and everything's in chaos." He slapped his hands against his bent knees. "Raph. Mikey," he dropped his head, "April."

The sound of their father's rice-paper door sliding open reached them. Donatello froze. The cabinet door under the sink hiding him partially from view, the first-aid kit in his grip. He peeked out over the top and suppressed a sigh.

"What is going on out here? Why am I woken to shouting?"

Donatello's mouth worked as he stood up. He took several steps towards the living room. He glanced down at Raph, laying there on the floor, his failure as leader in the flesh. Terrific.

"Nothing, Master Splinter. Go back and get some rest, I'll have your breakfast and meds ready in a few minutes."

Splinter worked his claws around the top of his cane. "I would have it quiet today. My head is not well." He rubbed the side of his temple. "I did not sleep. Nightmares." His voice grew distant. "Visions of storms. Children lost in fire and rain. Death."

Donatello exchanged a furtive glance at his brother on the floor. Raph gave him a questioning, worried look. He fingered the edge of the first aid kit. Shook his head slightly. Meaning to say, it's nothing to worry about. Sure that the new combo of meds he'd been giving Splinter was the source of his psychological distress and nothing more.

There was no such thing as visions. Or omens. There was just a failing heart and a poor excuse for decent medical care. Add that to his list of recent failures.

"And," his voice rose indignantly, bringing Don out of his downward spiraling thoughts, "Those computers of yours. They were beeping so loudly. Incessantly!"

Donatello looked from his make-shift office to Splinter's room; realizing his mistake, he ducked his head. "I'm sorry, Sensei. I forgot to close my office door all the way, I won't let it happen again."

"Hm. I need my rest."

"Yes, of course."

"I am not well. I shouldn't have to remind you of all my sons, Donatello."

"No, Father."

"Very well. I would like oatmeal, my son. Without raisins."

"Hai, Sensei."

His eyes roved around the room, head cocked slightly, listening. "And where are your brothers?"

"Uh," Donatello cast another glance at Raph.

"Did you lose track of them again? Donatello, need I remind you that as leader, it is now your responsibility to know where they are at all times. To keep them close and safe. Secure. This is not too hard a task, is it? Leonardo always knew where each of my sons were at, at any given time. Why is it such a hard thing to ask of -"

Raphael raised one arm into the air and waved, stopping Splinter in mid-sentence, "Hey, Sensei."

Splinter's brows raised, "Raphael."

Donatello gave his brother a look of mixed gratitude and shock. Raph folded his arms over his torso and swept his eyes away. He had the decency to look a little guilty. But Don didn't care. He appreciated the gesture more than he could articulate.

Splinter's jaw worked. He frowned at Donatello. "My oatmeal. No raisins. And the peppermint green tea, extra honey. Do not forget this time."

"Of course . . . oh, no. Um, the honey. Uh, we have to watch your blood sug—"

His father burst into a rough bout of coughing. Bent over and shaking with the force of it. The coughing morphed into a series of short wheezing. He shook his head, blinking the tears out of his watering eyes. "Eh-Extra honey."

"Splinter," Donnie started, then changed course, "Okay, that's fine. A little honey. But . . . I-I just need to check your sugar levels before we –"

He slammed the end of his cane on the floor. "Do not argue with me, child."

Donatello ducked his head. Kept his gaze from Raph, not wanting to see his expression. Feeling the pit in his gut knotting tighter with his embarrassment. He coughed into his shoulder, cheeks burning.

Splinter scratched at his throat, rubbing it with a pained grimace. "My blood will be checked. I am not foolish. But, I am parched and need it to soothe my aching throat. Would you deny such a meager request?"

"I just . . . have to monitor your sugar levels, Sensei. If you have a –"

He raised a clawed finger and shook it in the air. "Leonardo would not. Leonardo would attend to my needs as I requested and never question."

Donatello pinched his mouth closed and nodded. Body rigid. He felt Raphael's eyes on him, but could not bring himself to look at his brother. He stared hard into the air in front of him, gripping the first aid kit tightly with both hands.

"This year cannot pass quickly enough."

Donatello bit his tongue, hard.

"Why do you have that?" Splinter asked, pointing one claw at the kit.

"It," he glanced at Raph who was looking up at him with a grim expression, "It's nothing. Raph's got a paper cut and needed a bandaid."

Splinter eyed him suspiciously, then with another bout of coughing, turned back to his room. He slid the doors closed behind him, but the painful sounds of his coughing lingered.

Donatello stood, wavering on his feet, feeling the glut of emotions crippling him. His heart pounded and his hands were slick. His jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth, aching throat working and eyes burning. He felt like he was losing his mind. Closing his eyes, he felt the room reel, but managed to remain standing. When he opened them again, he saw that his brother was laughing, silently; one hand perched at his brow.

"P-Paper cut."

An irrational giggle burbled up from his chest. Bursting the tension. He dropped to his knees. Raph reached out and swatted his arm, slapping it as his silent laughter erupted into muffled guffaws.

Donatello rolled his eyes, but found the chuckling flowing out of him, stronger and harder, leeching the hurt away. Before he knew it, he was bent over Raph, cackling into his brother's smelly armpit as he was roughly hugged and patted on the shell.

* * *

**A/N:** Again, sorry for the delay. Thank you for being patient! And thank you so much for the reviews and PM's! I always love hearing from you!

Love's Causality has been dogging me and so I've been working a lot on that sucker. Also, apparently, I'm on a Don and Raph brother-bonding kick lately. I think it's, in part, due to me watching Supernatural so much lately - on season 3, so no spoilers, please - but Dean and Sam totally remind me of Don and Raph and I can't help but see them whenever I watch it. (I LOVE the show so far! LOVE IT!)


	13. Truce

"Sometimes, a truce can create dangers that outweigh any peace." -Charles Shift

* * *

**Chapter 13 - Truce**

* * *

Casey stood riveted, mouth agape, torn between the urge to bolt with April tucked under one arm and to attack the man sitting so incongruously at her table. His mind blanked with terror and pearls of sweat dotted his temple.

"Th-That's . . ." He could form no coherent sentences.

April set the teapot down with a nervous rattle. Rubbing her hands upon the front of her jeans and then gesturing towards him, she said, "Casey," turning a bit she indicated the man behind her seated at the table, cloaked in blades and radiating menace, "The, uh, or is it just, uh, um, Shredder."

Casey's eyes darted from April to the man staring coldly at him back to April. A small strangled noise erupted from the back of his throat, but not much else. He shuffled forward a half-step only to stop, unable to make sense of what he was seeing or to determine what the next move should be.

The Shredder took hold of the situation. He pointed to a chair opposite him and commanded, "Sit down."

In a daze, Casey moved towards the kitchen. Carefully. Eyes never leaving the Shredder as he inched his way closer. As if approaching a loosed tiger from the zoo. His mouth still hung open as he reached out with his fingertips, trying to snag April's arm without getting any nearer to the man. Feet splayed and body coiled, ready to either leap in front of her or steal her away at any sign of danger. Of course, the Shredder just being in the same room with his ex was raising some pretty enormous flags of DANGER in his mind just then.

April stepped out of reach. Casey looked at her as if she'd just kicked him. "April," he squeaked. He raised up both hands, palms out in surrender. "Look, I know you're still pissed at me, but be reasonable. You gotta get outta here," he whispered as if the man a few feet away couldn't here him. "Right now. Run. Get safe. Go get the guys."

Shredder leaned forward in his seat incrementally.

April rubbed her arms and hugged herself. She shook her head. "He's not here to hurt me."

Casey's eyes, round with fright, darted to the Shredder. They took in the armor and the cold gleam in the dark gaze, still staring with contempt at him. "I dunno what he promised or threatened you with, Babe," he caught himself too late as she winced at the old pet name. "Sorry."

April's expression hardened. "Casey," she said. "You should leave. Now."

Casey shook his head and reached for her arm again. She pulled away. Insisted, "I'm not in any danger."

"Do you hear yourself? This is the Shredder, not some stray mutt ya found in the alley." Casey's knees bounced as he ducked and tipped his head, pleading and exasperated. "What did he do? Some ninja mind-trick on ya?"

"He promised he wouldn't hurt me or anyone else."

"Yeah, _heh_, I wouldn't count on that, Red."

Casey reached out again to grab at April; to pull her out of the room, hoping he could get her out of the apartment before the Shredder reacted, knowing his chances were slim to non-existent at best. This was the guy that four trained ninja couldn't seem to take down. April was lucky to still be standing, let alone breathing. Why she was busy serving him tea and not running for her life was beyond him. _He _must_ have used mind powers on her, that snake!_

Something nagged at the back of his mind. But this was no time for thinking!

"If I wanted to harm Ms. O'Neil, don't you think I would have done so by now?" The calm voice seemed at odds with the get-up of spiked armor gleaming in the light.

"I ain't gonna play no cat an' mouse game with you, Shredder. I know what you are." He jabbed his finger towards Shredder. "A typical scumbag liar and killer. An' you ain't fooling my head with none of that ninja mind magic crap. No fuckin' way. Come on, April!"

The Shredder's brow arched slightly.

April paled until her freckles stood out in pale orange and pink. "Casey, I think it would be best if you don't antagonize the man covered in razors. Just . . . go, alright? Please?"

Making up his mind, Casey's arm snatched out and he took hold of April's upper arm. "Okay, we're outta here!"

She hollered in surprise. He spun and moved to get them as far away from the nutjob leader of the Foot as possible. Before he'd taken two steps, the Shredder was on him. One scarred hand gripped his shoulder tight, squeezing hard and freezing Casey in his tracks.

April's breath caught. "Don't!" she cried. She staggered back a few paces as Casey released her arm.

Casey's eyes rolled around to peer just over the twin spiked blades perched next to his jaw. He swallowed. Balled his free hand slowly into a fist. The muscle in his jaw jumped as his foot pivoted and the tendons in his right arm grew taut, pulling back for the swing.

"Casey! Don't be stupid!" April's voice rang shrill and high.

Casey swung. His fist sailed through empty air as the Shredder casually leaned back.

With a preternatural grace, the man caught Casey's wrist, deflecting it. He lifted it up and back while spinning the younger man around; pivoting Casey with a hand placed over his face until his back was pressed against the Shredder's front. He kicked Casey's legs out from under him and slammed him sideways into a chair that his toe had yanked out from under the table.

He released Casey who fell forward, elbows and hands smacking roughly onto the table's surface.

Casey flailed and moved to jerk the chair back to stand. To face his attacker. He wouldn't be subdued so easily! Not Casey Jones! Not when his love was in danger! "I'm not done with you, yet!" Casey shouted. The chair legs screeched back, but not far.

The Shredder kicked the back of the chair's seat with the heel of one foot, jamming the chair firmly in place, knocking the air from Casey's stomach as his torso was crushed against the edge of the table. The tea pot and mugs rattled from the force.

"Sit. Down. Boy."

April rushed to Casey's side, keeping a wide berth of the Shredder. Using two hands, she shoved the table to give her friend more room to breathe.

The Shredder moved back to where he'd been sitting earlier. He slunk into the seat, placing one hand before him where a cell phone lay.

Casey and April stared at him, one glowering, gasping for breath, and one peering in fright and irritation.

He wasn't even panting as he said, voice calm and low, "As I was saying," Shredder slid the phone towards April.

"It's time for a family meeting."

# # #

Donatello heard the phone ringing and cursed under his breath.

Glancing at the wrench in his hand, he tried again to tighten the bolt with the stripped threads. It spun but didn't tighten. The phone rang again.

"Ah. Dammit."

He sat up, listening and half-hoping that Raph would have gotten it by now, but he gave up when he heard it once again. Turning his head, he saw the bolt drop, roll behind the washing machine and drop into one of the holes in the floor drain. He stared after it until he heard the far-away plop as it hit the water beyond.

_"_Oh. That's just . . ._ Terrific!" _

He threw the wrench down. It bounced off the floor and hit the machine, denting the side of the washer. He slid on one elbow and his hip in a clumsy scooting motion, out from behind the cramped space between the washer and the wall. A large swath of grease painted one temple up to the center of his forehead. His ankle struck the forgotten cup of half-finished coffee, tipping it over. The icy liquid seeped against his shin as he jumped from the chill.

"Yikes!"

Reaching for the nearest rag, he smeared more grease on his leg as he tried to dry it off. He jumped to his feet.

The phone trilled over and over as he hastily scurried from their laundry room towards his workspace. His head jerked towards Master Splinter's room - "Don't wake up. Don't wake up." - in time to see the door sliding open.

He ducked his head and quickened his pace. "Terrific," he breathed.

Raphael met him in the hallway, just besides the office door; limping slightly, one hand cupping the fresh bandages. He held up a small plastic canister in one hand, pinched between a thick finger and thumb. "H-Hey, bro." A sheepish smile crept across Raph's face, making Donatello do a double take.

He was afraid to ask. "What?"

"I'm feelin' funny, uh, dizzy and shit." He blinked slowly and opened and closed his mouth as if it were too dry. "I think I took the wrong stuff."

Donatello's steps faltered. A frown puckered his brow. The phone rang persistently in the background.

"It said pain stuff. For pain," Raph insisted, turning the plastic bottle upside down. "And I had some. Pain, I mean. I don't think you did my stitches right."

"What?! Of course I did. Wait. Gimme that," he said as he snatched the bottle from Raph's hand. "No, no, no, Raph. You were not supposed to take anything until I changed the bandage again. And, I told you specifically which ones . . . why would you . . . Raph, it says right on here, ugh, didn't you read the label?"

He hmm'ed, tipping his head to one side. "Raphael," he started again slowly, "these were our last supply of oxycodone. These were not . . ." He trailed off and peering more closely at his brother's dilated pupils, asked, "Wait. How many were left in here? How many did you take of these?"

"Maybe two." Raph shrugged and then his eyes traveled up to the space just beyond Donnie's shoulder. The stupid grin returned. Donatello turned slightly to look, but nothing was there.

"Or f-four," Raph slurred, swaying slightly and now frowning. "My head hurts."

"For crying out loud," Donnie dropped his face into his palm. He jumped as Splinter's voice came from right behind him. Complaining loudly.

"The phone!"

Donnie spun around. "I-I'm getting it, Sensei."

"Then do so!" Splinter leaned forward on his cane, fur bristling, ears flat on his skull. "Donatello, the phone has been ringing and you have left the door open again. I had no sleep to speak of last night. I cannot get rest with that noise. I have told you this."

"I-I know, Master Splinter. I'm sorry. I was about to answer it. It's just that, Raph went and took meds without consulting me or referring to the clear and simple directions I gave him."

"Explain later, Donatello!" Splinter pointed one claw at the side of his head. "It pierces my ears. Do you understand that my hearing is sensitive? Much more so than you or your brothers. I am sure I have explained this to you. Many times before. Many times."

"I-I'm sorry."

Don closed his mouth and huffed through his nose, looking furtively between Raph and the door to the work room where the phone continued on and on. A fast building dread that it was April calling him, to finally talk things out and perhaps apologize and here he was wrangling his doped up brother and incensed father.

"My son, why must I endure this when I have asked you a dozen times or more to please keep your work room quiet? Is it so much to ask of you?"

Raph suddenly seemed to understand what was happening. He leaned forward and patted Donnie's shoulder, then moved his large hand to pat his face as Don turned back to face him. "Don' worry. I'll get it." Using Don's face as leverage, he wheeled around and lurched into the room.

Donatello stumbled back a step, nearly bumping into the old rat behind him.

"Leonardo had no problem keeping the lair in peace. He understood that with peace comes contemplation and balance."

"N-No, wait, Raph!" Don took a step forward only to twist and pat the air in front of Splinter, placatingly. "Y-Yes, Splinter. I know. I'm sorry. Okay? I'm-I'm sorry I'm not perfect like your golden-boy, Leo! _Alright?!_"

Splinter stopped speaking immediately. He brought his chin towards his chest, blinking rapidly, looking furious and offended.

Turning back to the doorway, catching his breath and trying to stop himself from saying anything worse, he said, "I think I should answer it." Donatello followed after Raph, ignoring Splinter's huff of frustration behind him.

Raph emerged an instant later with the phone clutched between two hands. He looked up with a guilty look, eyes wide and childlike. Looking over his shoulder, he said, "It's April. Donnie."

Donatello froze. "What?"

He slurred, "I sshould talk to her."

"No, no no!" Donatello reached out frantically, "I don't think that's a good idea."

Splinter's ears pricked up. "Ask her if she has received word from my son."

"Give it to me, Raph."

Nodding to Splinter and then shaking his head, Raph lifted the phone up and over his shoulders, keeping it from Donnie's hands. He shook his head more firmly. With a shove to the face, Raph pushed Donatello away. "Nope. I was-sh an assh lasht time."

"Yes. You were, but now's not the time," Don insisted, righting himself.

Splinter grumbled as the phone trilled again. He took up his earlier offense, "I certainly hope you are not implying that there is favoritism here, Donatello. I have treated all of my sons with equal care and dedication. Is it wrong for a father to be concerned about a child long from home?"

Donatello turned his head, "What? No, no. Of course not, Sensei. I didn't mean anything. I was just . . ."

And Raph finally pressed the right button. He held the phone out in front of his mouth with two hands. "April?!" he hollered, making Don and Splinter wince.

"Raphael," she asked, voice coming in through the speaker button that Raphael had inadvertently pressed.

"Lishten to me, April. Before you say anythin' elshe. I'm really an assh, I can admit it. I can admit when I'm wrong. No one can blame me for not bein' honesht when it countsh," he babbled.

Donatello scrambled for the phone one last time, but Raph spun around, still babbling his half-formed apologies.

Splinter paused for a round of choking coughs, then went on, sounding more put out and defensive than before, even as his voice grew thin and reedy, "Leonardo was always the over-achiever. Was I wrong to praise where there was work and effort exerted? I never asked any of you more than what I would have given. But he always gave more. More than he had."

"Sensei," Don pleaded, "I know. I understand. I-I misspoke. I'm sorry, okay? Just go lay down and let me have a second."

"April," Raph drawled. "You should come on back down here and let Donnie make it up to you, you know? He wantsh to tell ya what a mishtake it was fightin' and all."

Donatello spun around.

"Will. You. Please. Give me. The GOD. DAMN. PHONE!" Donatello screamed.

"April?" Raphael asked and suddenly went quiet. Body rigid as stone.

The room fell into a strained silence. Splinter and Donatello gazed at Raphael's shell. Donatello blinked, mouth working, saying nothing. Waiting.

His voice cleared a bit as he straightened up; head darted around and his eyes shot from Don to Splinter and back again. He cleared his throat.

"What did you just say?"

* * *

**A/N:EEEE!**

Thank you once again for your patience - I had run into some set backs this week which ate up all my free time. But I hope you enjoyed the latest update and hope to get the next one out this week! I'm being ambitious, but I'm gonna TRY!

I appreciate all the feedback and reviews, so keep 'em coming! xo


	14. The Secret Paradise

_"The path to paradise begins in hell."_ -Dante Alighieri

* * *

**Chapter 14 -** **The Secret Paradise**

* * *

With a groan, he rolled and flailed frantically for the brief second that he became airborne. The floor introduced itself with a violent smack; sending bolts of pain through his throbbing skull.

"Urgh," he moaned and tasted dried blood like chalk caught between his teeth. He worked his tongue back and forth, grimacing as he cracked his eyes open; blinking rapidly, trying to orientate himself with his surroundings. All he could see was the gauzy blur. Pastels in varying shades and the wooden brown of the floor.

As his body awakened, it complained in a variety of pains; all shapes and sizes registered: throbbing, dull aching and a prominent sharp jab, like an enormous needle in the side of his head, from his temple down through his jaw. For a minute, he thought it might be broken. But no, he gently tapped along the bone with the tips of his fingers, nothing more than some tenderness and swelling.

He sniffed. The mingled scent of powder, citrus, honey, and sandalwood reached him. Something richer as well, a musky, unique, but not necessarily an unpleasant undertone. It made his mouth water. He turned his head, breathed the strange scents in and calmed himself. The delicately perfumed air was a stark and bizarre contrast against the iron, brittle taste of blood in his mouth; the pain ricocheting through is prone body.

_What the? _He frowned. _Perfume . . . ?_ That couldn't be right. Where the hell was he?

A murmured rumbling sound, soft and consistent, reached him. He froze as he recognized it as voices. Then panicked as a set of hands alighted upon his shell. Shuffling back on his palms and knees with a growl, he bunched himself into a corner of pillows. Muscles coiled and ready to spring into a fight.

Then the images in front of him caught up with his brain. The growl hitched in the back of his throat and he choked.

Two figures crouched before him, one normal, and the other not completely human. Definitely not human, actually. The one closest to him was an obsidian black, her flesh shimmered as though scaled, though he could see no such reptilian skin, only the flat smoothness as he had.

There were fiery red with intermittent stripes of yellow running up and around her arms, her broad shoulders, and elongated neck, gathering in tighter lines near her jaw and traveling to either side of her face. The yellow and red broke into intricate designs as they swirled alongside the slightly protruding squared snout.

A pair of startling golden, vertically slit eyes stared at him and blinked sideways with an opaque nictitating membrane. She tipped her oval-shaped head to one side. Her tongue lashed out from the little inverted 'v' shape of her lips. It flickered long and pink, forked at the end, the tips were black.

"Ho-ly crap," Mikey whispered.

Her voice was rich, low and surprisingly deep, with an accent he couldn't place, "De boy scared. Confused." When she opened her mouth, he expected to see a pair of fangs, but instead, there were no teeth that he could make out. None at all.

She glanced at her companion, a delicate-looking human woman who never took her flat obsidian eyes from him. Her long dark hair hung in straight sheets over her narrow shoulders. She remained watchful and strangely unconcerned. Her skin bore the pale blankness of a statue carved from stone.

The mutant shook her head on her elegant neck. "Just look at him bruises. Swollen eye. He in pain. Dieter, dat animal."

The snake-like woman hissed and the tongue flicked out again. She coiled her clawed hands into fists and stood suddenly, making Mikey jump. She stood up and turned to face someone approaching them from behind that Mikey could not see. Over her shoulder she promised, "One day, Phuong. I'm going to end dat beast. I'm going to get out of dis hellhole and get home to Dekese."

Phuong rolled her eyes. "Calm yourself, Vannda," the woman said and her voice was also heavily accented, sounding similar to Master Splinter. But her voice was light, a murmur; whispery and thin, slipping from between a tiny mouth framed by pale lips. "You serve nothing in getting angry. Only to get yourself beaten again. Fool you are with that temper."

Mikey looked between the women. _Beaten?_ A fierce surge of protectiveness washed through him. No one, especially no woman, mutant or otherwise was going to be beaten while he was around. He sat up straighter, but said nothing as Phuong went on.

"Besides," she said in that same, bored tone, though some hard light entered her eyes as she continued, "You go home to what?" She made a sound like Raphael sometimes did, a huff of dark humor. "Just like in An Giang. They'd burn you at the stake for what you are. Or worse. Stop pretending that you have anywhere else to be but here."

Vannda clenched her fists, her shoulders tightened.

The tone softened, but only a little. "Face truth. You are safest here. Where you belong. Where we all do."

_"Bah."_

Mikey bristled. _First they mentioned being beaten and now burned at the stake? _What was this woman talking about? He had to get out of here.

"Who are you people? Where am I?" Mikey asked, eyes darting around, trying to remember anything between showing up at Fiona's little trap and being beaten by a group of cowards and waking up here. "Are you . . . are you prisoners here?"

The woman's eyes glittered with humor, but her ghostlike face remained passive. "I am Phuong. That," she gestured to the snake-like woman who glanced over her shoulder, "is Vannda. You are in what is called Des Geheimnis Paradies."

"The Secret Paradise. _Bah! _More like Hell on Earth."

"Vannda exaggerates. It is her nature."

With her hands outstretched in a peaceful gesture, Phuong stood up, the gauzy light blue gown she wore fell in pleats over her thighs. She stepped aside just as Vannda did the same, sitting on the edge of the bed that Mikey had rolled off from.

"It's all a matter of perspective. Some of us are simply grateful to be alive. Considering what our loving families and communities would have done to us had we not been recruited."

"Bah!" Vannda crossed her arms and her ankles. Mikey noticed her bare feet only sported four toes. "Bonjour, turtle-boy," Vannda said with a nod and a turned-down smile to Mikey. Her tongue flicked again. "And for de record, I speak only truth. It Phuong who lives in a dream. Unlike de rest of us." Then, "Dieter dropped him last night, while you were working."

Mikey eyes fell on the girl who stepped forward between them, the one Vannda had just addressed. His eyes widened.

She was not much taller than him, and a mutant as well. Widely spaced chestnut-colored eyes glared out from beneath a fringe of bangs that framed a light green, slightly rounded face. A pink ribbon held the end of a long brunette braid which draped over one bare shoulder down to her waist. She wore a thin robe with intricate embroidery running throughout in golden threads depicting flowers and hummingbirds. Coiled loosely around one ankle looked to be the end of a tail.

Next to her, protectively held beneath one slim, green arm, clutching at her hip, was a child. A mutant child.

"Mona, Mona! Do you see?! It is as the men last night said! Another boy," the child rattled on, voice thickly accented with an Indian accent. He glanced up at the one who held him so protectively against her side. "Finally!"

He cracked a smile, revealing a pair of tiny fangs. He was covered in fur colored in tawny gold with darker patches, spaced in bunches; a pair of amber eyes glittered curiously at him from above a rounded snout with a pale pink nose. Whiskers twitched as it sniffed in his direction.

"Uh, hi."

"Namastē, I am Tahir." The boy released the mutant named Mona and gave him a shy wave and then a formal half-bow. Then he shyly pulled at the collar of his over-sized t-shirt, fidgeting.

"Mikey," Michelangelo replied. He sat back on his haunches, returning the wave before he caught himself. The mutant girl narrowed her eyes, considering Mikey with obvious suspicion, but said nothing.

"Hm, so it's you."

Mikey blinked uncomprehendingly. "Do I . . . know you?"

Over her shoulder, she said to Vannda in a clear American-sounding voice, "There was a group of customers who came in last night. Soldiers. Venom from the uniforms. Not the typical fare. Yvette told me in the kitchen. They came in a helicopter with Madame Sophia. Most went to the west wing for the regulars, but a few came through Specials. I had to help Tahir." She ran a hand over the boy's head, ruffling the thicker fur behind his ears.

"Then we had hospitality and custodial work the rest of the night. But, luckily, as I was serving snacks, I overheard there was a mutant taken in. The entire battalion wouldn't stop whispering about a turtle," she shot a look at Mikey, "and a girl."

Vannda thought on this, then shrugged. "No one called on me, so here I be, deaf and blind to news. When this one thrown into de room, I stepped from out the toilet. Caught sight of Dieter, a few soldiers in hallway, but no girl." She glanced at Phuong. "Maybe she not like us?"

The woman shrugged, looking bored. "I know nothing. I was occupied with my patrons, as I am compensated for. But, I never pay attention to the nonsense the customers say. I could not care less. It serves nothing. Unlike you two, I do not wish for discipline. I do not care to be beaten."

Ignoring that, Mona said, "Well, I heard something else that was interesting. Something we might be able to use. But that depends." She nodded her head in Mikey's direction but locked eyes with Vannda.

Vannda's gave her an intense look in return, on the edge of her seat, but Phuong shrugged again. "Peh, it makes no difference. Leave me out of your plotting."

Mona glared at Phuong, then she turned her gaze to Mikey. She was staring at him with a piercing look.

He squirmed, then before Mona could ask whatever it was she was about to, said, "Look, I dunno how I got here, or why the heck I'm here with you, but I got a pretty good idea that whatever it is, it's bad."

He started to stand up and Mona placed herself in front of the boy, balling her fists and spreading her feet into a fighting stance. "Back off, Freckles."

Vannda placed her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Easy, woman. Remember. He's not customer, Mona. He's fresh meat."

Mikey swallowed at that. Mona relaxed, but eyed him warily.

With a sigh, Phuong said, "No surprise. Look at him. Another freak," as she said this, her eyes grew entirely black, skin rippled and colored until it look like flames flickered across the surface of her throat and cheeks before turning back to the pale flesh, "like the rest of us."

Mikey's mouth dropped open. Phuong stepped away from the group, quietly making her way through the room to sit on an overstuffed love seat. She picked up a book from the armrest and went back to reading.

His eyes shot around the room and he took note that he was in a massive dorm room or communal bedroom. Two dressing tables sat covered in perfume bottles, make-up and other items. There were piles of books, mounds of discarded clothing, and pillows scattered everywhere.

There were three doors along one wall, paneled with mirrors. One side was open revealing a walk-in closet. There were several beds made up in different colored blankets and matching pillows, all in hues of pink, purple, emerald green and one in tucked up next to the green one, this one sported blankets with an outer space theme of planets, rocket ships and stars throughout. Resting upon the pillow was a well-worn teddy, slumped over slightly.

For some reason, Mikey felt a lump half-form in his throat.

He jumped as a furry little hand took his. He looked down at the boy who's rounded ears pricked up to attention; the very tips black and spiked in a long tapered bit of fur.

"I am glad he is here with us now."

"Tahir," Mona hissed. "You don't know this turtle-guy!"

"No. But I like him." Tahir giggled. "He has a happy face."

Her mouth pressed into a disapproving line as Mikey grinned.

"Want to be friends?"

"Sure, kid." Mikey's brows raised as he looked up at Mona scowling at him. The grin faded. He blew out a breath and said, "Okay, I get it. I think, well, some of it, I get. Or at least, I'm beginning to form a picture. But look, I come in peace, all right? I just want to get out of here and get back home to my family."

Phuong snorted from behind her book. Vannda and Mona exchanged glances.

Tahir grinned up at him. "We are your family now."

"Oh, uhm, okay. Thanks, but I'm still getting my shell out of here."

"Hold on, Freckles. What about the woman you were brought here with?"

He blinked, at a loss.

"Well?" Mona pressed. "Doesn't she mean anything to you?"

Mikey frowned, thinking hard. His memories were clear and besides Fiona, there was only the one blonde that he caught sight of before he'd been knocked out.

"Uh, you mean," he screwed up his face with recollection, "That blonde lady. Barb, uh, no. Bonnie! That's it. You mean Bonnie? I think I know her, yeah," his face brightened and he snapped his fingers. "Casey's party. That's where I know her from!"

"Very good, Mikey! You figured it out!" Tahir shook his hand where he still clasped it.

Mikey chuckled. With his free hand he tapped the side of his head that wasn't bruised. "If my noggin wasn't caved in a bit from fighting Schwarzenegger, I would have remembered sooner."

Tahir covered his mouth, suppressing more giggles.

Mona exchanged a look with Vannda. "No. Not Bonnie," Mona said slowly with a deepening frown. "Your pregnant wife."

# # #

In between the hazy darkness and flashes of painful, bright light, there was the thrumming sound of thunder on the horizon of her consciousness. The rumbling growl of anguish. She didn't want to meet with that storm her body struggled through, so she shied away from that reality as much as possible.

She was aware of movement; the dizzy inertia of being moved by some outside force. Of temperature change from balmy to frigid. The fresh scent of impending rain supplanted by the harsh, brittle scent of chemical cleaners. Anti-bacterial sprays and the cottony, suffocating smell of gauze and bandages. The pristine burn in her nostrils of a place sanitized for medical care. Surgeries.

Karai shook her head and moaned. She was promptly shushed by a black woman in a paper mask. Rage flared, incendiary, blinding, but fleeting. There was no strength to feed the fire. No oxygen left for breathing.

Sounds flared and died away. Voices ordered in a foreign language, one she thought she recognized as Spanish, but muddled with German. Female, male. Barking, answering, ordering, apologizing. Taking turns with language like children on a see-saw at the park.

The image pinched her heart for some reason and the lights were gone again.

When her eyelids fluttered once again, she winced as the noise returned. Assaulting her raw eardrums. Too loud, forceful. Again, confused. Though maybe, she realized, there were several people speaking all at once, so that all the spoken language merged into a rolling, tumbling ball of nonsensical noise. Whatever the case, it was too grating, too big. The pressure of it threatened to crack her skull. Each time she surfaced the pain drove her back under.

But not the next time. The next time she surfaced, she fought the pull back to unconsciousness. Dragged herself to break the surface tension by the threads of her fury.

With all of her willpower, she struggled to remain awake. Despite the electric shards of pain running up and down her spine, the odd watery feeling sliding through her hips into her thighs down to her shaking, slightly bent knees, she fought her way towards clarity. The voices were gone but the thunder on the horizon racked her body now. Pain ignited and danced with glee over the terrain of her body.

She was clad in a paper gown. In spite of her body perspiring, she shivered.

Her sweating hands groped the sides of the hospital cot she found herself strapped to by wrists and one large band across her chest. Her feet were numb with the cold. Her heels braced against some icy metal stirrup and one of them slipped only to crash back down against the rigid edge. She sucked in a hiss of pain as her toes curled; felt the sharp awareness of the cut on her foot ring out over the crushing cramps crippling her torso.

Something pressed upon her face and her eyes crossed to see it was an oxygen mask. Karai gulped in momentary panic. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to breathe normally.

_Stay calm. But the pain! Ignore it, fool. Figure out what is happening._

Her eyes rolled in muted terror as they darted about, taking in her surroundings.

_Where?_

The last thing she remembered was something about a helicopter. She nodded, thinking. That's right. Leonardo, he called Dr. Tsuneo. He came, just as he had promised. Karai laid back and closed her eyes. Then she was saved. She must be at the Dr.'s arranged location. Where he promised he could deliver this miracle safely. Away from prying eyes. Away from her father's knowledge or judgement.

She was safe. She was safe. Only . . .

The machines measured out her heartbeat. The silence weighed down like a blanket over her quivering body, a trial of sweat meandered down the side of her jaw. A frown tugged at her brows. She pulled on one wrist cuff, yanking on it with a grunt.

No. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

The remembered images of blocking arms and swinging fists rose up . . . the helicopter, there had been a fight . . . Dr. Tsuneo, what happened to him? And a woman's voice, then her wretched face took shape. _Sophia Brokker_!

A flash of anger gave Karai strength to wrestle against her restraints; doing nothing but hurting herself more. Panting, she resumed taking stock of her surroundings, looking for a way out, ignoring the fact of the pain radiating throughout her body, the weakness in her limbs, the dizziness and fatigue even now threatening to pull her back under.

She had to get out of here!

Calming her breathing, she glanced around as much as possible; lifting her head several inches from the pillow and grimacing against the cramping in her back and between her legs. She flipped a damp strand of hair from her face with a jerk of her head. Eyes wide and searching, huffing through the mask.

Bright lights glared from the ceiling, making no room for shadows. She was surrounded by machines in different sizes, beeping and blipping, tubes and various lines connected her to them. Dials and blinking screens covered the steel surfaces. Just beneath the sound of the machines was a steady thrumming.

Her breath froze in her chest as she realized it was the sound of the infant heart monitor.

Fighting panic, she continued her inventory of the space. An IV drip delivered saline and a metal tray held nothing but a squeeze bottle and two syringes right besides her. Behind this, a long counter. There were instruments, gleaming in the harsh white light of the room, lined on a white towel next to a sink. She couldn't make out what they were. It didn't matter.

Karai turned her head. On the opposite side of the narrow room, more of the same, except the upper half of the entire wall was made up of what looked like mirrors. Most likely, two-way. She was being observed, she was sure. Her jaw clenched, the muscle jumping.

Her pale, ghostly reflection stared back; like a wraith sitting in the room with her. Karai frowned at her ragged appearance. How drained. Her eyes circled and cheeks hollow on either side of the oxygen mask. She shook her head. The damp hair hung in limp strands on either side of her face, barely moving with the motion.

She looked like a corpse. With a shudder, she swept her eyes from her reflection, swallowing dryly. There was also a rolling cart with a plastic basin on top of it. The sides of the basin were clear and low. Inside of it a tiny medical cot. Beneath it more dials. The bassinette where newborns were evaluated, cleaned and weighed.

She pulled at her restraints. Her cheeks puffed with the effort. Thrashing until she slumped back, wrists sore and starting to bleed.

"Mmph." Her tongue was a ball of wheat, poking the tender insides of her parched mouth. She winced and tried again. "Leo . . ."

Blinking, her head flopped back onto the flat pillow, startled by the sound of her voice, so thin, so weak. Startled more that his name was the first she spoke. And why should that surprise her? She loved him, didn't she? She did, but she hated this. This vulnerability. This weakness. She wanted this child, but hated what it had done to her: rendered her useless. Pathetic.

Her jaw clenched and her eyes burned. Her gaze roved down to the swelling stomach that blocked her view directly in front of her. The huge inhuman bulk of it beneath the paper gown. The source of her weakness. The reason she'd been captured and the love of her life taken away to most likely be tortured once again. Possibly killed.

And this time she was in no condition to come to his aid. She could do nothing to help him. Nothing.

Her eyes pinched closed. _Dammit_.

Why had she ever fooled herself into thinking there was a life for her and Leonardo? Dr. Tsuneo had warned her. He had wanted her to end the pregnancy as soon as he learned of the paternity.

# # #

"Karai," the old doctor stared at her from above his half-moon spectacles, "you cannot be serious. This-this cannot be. I would advise strongly against seeing this to term. I can help you. Please allow me to take care of this for you."

She moved to cover her slightly swelled stomach, to shield the life within, but crossed her arms over her chest instead; jutted out her chin. "It's not your decision."

Dr. Tsuneo regarded her coolly, but not unkindly. "Your father -"

"What my father doesn't know can't hurt him. He will remain unaware as I stipulated in our agreement."

The doctor sighed and sat back in the chair. He glanced out the window, listening to the sea breathe as it rolled across the sand and the gulls cry as they endlessly circled. Searching. He removed his glassed and rubbed at his eyes. When he turned his attention back to Karai, there was a deep sadness in his eyes. "You have been like a granddaughter to me. And so, I will give to you the advice I would give to my own flesh and blood."

Karai braced herself, tightening her arms across her chest. This man had been nothing but good to the Oroku family. Had seen them at their best and worst. And Karai, if she was being honest with herself, did see him as something like family. Despite the urge to order him to be silent and do as he was told, she remained still. She was paying enough to have him here, she didn't need to be lectured. But she remained quiet. Eyes glued to one side. But listening. He was all she had, in terms of someone to trust, outside of Leonardo.

"Bringing a child into the world is an honor, one not without grave responsibility. And that is in the usual case. You are taking on much, much more by giving life to such a thing."

Her face snapped up, speaking before he could continue. "It's not a _thing_. My _husband_ is not-" she caught herself with the widening of the old man's eyes.

His eyes bore into hers until she cast them to the floor. "I see."

Her mouth worked and she sat forward, gripping her knees. "I know what I want. I know what I'm doing." She looked up. "The rest of it," she fluttered one hand through the air, "the rest of the world - everything else - can go to hell. I'm in control here. I'm having this baby. No matter what."

Tsuneo shifted in his seat. "Well. Your mind is made up. Yet." He tried again to reason with her, to make her see the enormity of what she was actually doing with this decision. "I do not think you fully understand the risks."

Her eyes narrowed. "I know what I'm doing."

Dr. Tsuneo continued to look as though he wanted to say more. His eyes were watering and filled with an unknown sorrow. "That may be true. But the price exacted for this," he sighed, "life, this path, you have chosen . . . it will be extraordinary. Perhaps more than you realize. More than you might be willing to pay."

Karai stared at him. Fear dogged the edges of her reason. She shoved it away. "I'm not afraid. Not of this or anything else. Can you help me get what I want or not?"

After a moment of silence, he nodded, "I will help you."

She sat back, relieved.

"But," he added with a deep sigh, "I am afraid for you."

The girl, looking so vulnerable and foolish to him, so terribly young, smirked.

"Well, don't be. I can handle anything. Our love," she added with the fierce confidence that only the very young and naive boast,"can withstand more than you know."

# # #

Karai slammed the back of her head against the pillow in frustration; thrashed it from side to side.

She had to get up, off this bed. To find Leo and get out of here. But then she remembered the blood, the cramping pain before Tsuneo had arrived, the helpless feeling as she slumped in and out of consciousness while all around her the world was breaking apart at the seams; the terror of feeling that her body was rejecting the life nearly grown within her. The life that was created from the love she shared with Leonardo.

And the fright of helplessness returned in full rendering her infuriated and weak. From between clenched teeth she groaned and then sucked in air as hard as she could.

_"__Aaaangh-ahaaah!" _

It came out frail. Feeble. Breaking into a gasping sob.

This wasn't how this was supposed to be.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you for reading! Hope you are still with me and not sharping your pitchforks and lighting your torches just yet.

Save them for later.


	15. Simple Plea

_"Simple plea:_

_Make them pay _

_and make them _

_bring my baby back to me._

_I'll make them pay_

_and make them_

_bring my baby back_

_to me."_ -Dr. Dog, _Bring my Baby Back_

* * *

**Chapter 15 – Simple Plea**

* * *

His hand wrapped around the bo and the room bubbled from beneath him, spinning. He tipped forward, off-balance for just a moment, catching himself by planting the end of his weapon firmly onto the floor, holding the staff between both clammy fists. Breathing caught and held, he pinched his eyes closed.

_Shredder. She's okay. Shredder is in her apartment. She's fine. Shredder will – no. She's alive._

_For now._

His eyes snapped open.

Donatello dashed from his room, pulling and adjusting the taunt strap across his chest, hands surprisingly steady, considering, unlike his heart, which was a sledge hammer against his ribs. His mask hung limply around his throat, tails trailed along his shoulders. For the third time, he barking over his shoulder, "Mikey! Let's go!"

With an impatient huff, he heaved a messenger bag up onto the kitchen table. He stuffed it with smoke bombs, a scrambler, climbing hooks. The sharp end of one caught the back of his knuckle, tearing through the flesh, but he didn't even notice.

_What else? What else should I bring?_ His mind reeled. Lists of possible contingencies, implements he'd need, strategies he may need to employ. Above it all, the limb-freezing terror.

His heart, his love, trapped. A killer in her home. A merciless maniac who was as unpredictable as he was deadly.

Why hadn't he protected her better? Why hadn't he thought of this possibility? His mouth tightened into a firm line. He had. A long time ago. Had prepared for it.

The apartment and shop's surveillance systems – he remembered reluctantly dismantling it all when she'd found out months ago. How angry she'd been – he was sure she was going to end their relationship over it. How foolish he'd felt for his unnecessary worry and unintentional over-protectiveness – not to mention nearly ruining everything between them because of it. After everything they'd been through, for something so stupid to dismantle what they'd built. He shook his head in disgust.

For someone who always attempted to think of everything, he'd missed the obvious. He should have told her before installing it.

He recalled how bad it had looked, even after he explained it was no different than the surveillance systems at the lair to keep them safe. She disagreed. Vehemently. Her independence was paramount. She didn't need to be watched over. Even after what she'd gone through at the hands of Venom, what she'd seen his family go through. She refused. Didn't want him with that sort of access to her private life. A point which stung.

He tried to explain it didn't work that way. That there was no actual infringement on her privacy.

She disagreed. Vehemently.

And he relented. Like a fool.

Now he only felt the burn of knowing he was right, souring his churning stomach. Being stupid didn't matter, being right didn't matter. None of that mattered. He'd happily agree to be wrong about everything for the rest of his life if it meant that April walked away from this unharmed. Regrets aside, he tried to reason out the situation.

_What was The Shredder doing there? Why, her? Why, now? This is a waste of time._

His head snapped up and his eyes darted to the closed, quiet door of his usually nosy, noisy little brother. He opened his mouth to shout for him again when the air was filled with the pained retching noises coming from the bathroom. He paused, then yelled over it, "Mikey! I said move it! Now!"

Splinter reached out to him, tapping him insistently on the arm. "Donatello."

"Not now, Splinter," Donatello huffed, flinging the strap of the bag over his head as he moved around the old rat to lean towards the bathroom door. The agonized sounds his brother was making behind it make Donatello cringe. Why didn't anyone ever listen to him?

He sensed his father hovering behind him. Felt his irritation. The disappointments mounting, higher and higher. And had his answer: he wasn't good at this, being a leader was not what he was cut out to be. And honestly, he didn't want any of it. The responsibility, the pressure, the constant weight of every decision being second-guessed and agonized over only for it all to blow up in his face over and over again.

"My son," he began again.

Donatello's jaw clenched, the muscle jumped. "I said not _now_!" he snapped.

He felt his father flinch back, felt the wave of indignant fury hit his shell; knew a lecture of how Leonardo would never speak to him in such a manner was just boiling along his father's tongue. Well, Splinter would just have to deal with it.

"Listen," he called forward to the bathroom door, words spilling into one another in his haste, "you need to take those tablets to negate the effects of the oxycodone you took. Blue bottle. The dark ones above the sink, marked 'overdose' and 'Mikey, do not touch'."

He waited another second, then, "I'm not wasting anymore time. I'm going with or without you."

There was a groan and the toilet flushed. The door flew open and Donatello stumbled back, bumping right into Master Splinter.

Raphael lumbered out. "Like hell you are." Cupping his hand to his mouth, he gulped several pills, then tossed the bottle to one side. He wiped at his dripping mouth, voice still slurring, growled, "Let's go!"

"My sons," Splinter began.

"Mikey!" Donatello called again, voice cracking. He trailed quickly behind Raphael who abruptly halted and spun on his heel, making Donatello scramble around him. "What are you –"

"Dammit, I'll get 'em myself." Raph stomped across the floor to the bedroom. He banged on the door with the meat of his fist. "Ain't warnin' ya again. I'll drag your shell out here if I need to."

Raph cocked his head, listening. Nothing. He reared back and kicked open the door. Stormed inside. A moment later, he reemerged, frowning. With a shrug and a quick glance around, he said, "Ain't here."

Donatello paused at the exit of the lair. "What?" His eyes darted around. Only now realizing that he hadn't seen his little brother the entire morning. His frantic mind thought back, trying and failing to recall if Mikey had said anything about a job today or last night . . . actually, Donatello vaguely realized that he hadn't seen Mikey since the night April had stormed out of the lair. His stomach dropped.

_Something was wrong. Or he was out pouting somewhere like a child. Which wouldn't be a surprise._

Splinter coughed into one loose claw. Blinking he looked up and spoke hoarsely, "I have been trying to tell you," he coughed again. Shook his head with a shudder, then wheezed, "Michelangelo is not at home."

"Not at . . . Do you know where he is?"

"I believe that is your responsibility," Master Splinter shot back with an icy glare.

Abashed, Donatello said nothing, feeling the back of his neck heat.

Raphael shoved past them. "We'll deal with the goof-off later. He's probably nappin' on the roof of Cagney's Pizza Palace again. We got no time for standin' around."

And though Donatello had a sinking feeling in his gut, one that had nothing to do with Splinter's hard stare, he turned to go. "I'll send him a text. Let him know to meet us at April's."

Splinter made to follow and Donatello halted, eyes full of questions.

"I will accompany you."

Stunned, Donatello stood, mouth agape. Multiple arguments against this idea flashed through his mind, reasons why that was anything but a good idea: his master's delicate heart, his respiratory illness, his overall fragility. The fact that he hadn't been out of the lair in over a year or more. Not to mention, in his weakened condition, he would surely slow them down. Angry as he was with his father, he didn't want him getting hurt, or worse.

"I don't think it's a good idea," he said weakly.

Splinter's eyes narrowed. "The Shredder is no trifling matter. You are only two."

Donnie ducked his head. "We can handle this, father."

"And neither of you are Leonardo."

His eyes snapped up, hardening. "And you are not what you once were," he said, low and hoarse, as if the words grated through the tightening in his throat and left them as ragged and ugly sounding as they actually were.

Splinter gripped the top of his cane, straightening, eyes glinting. Though Donatello braced for fury, his father's voice was soft, "We shall see."

He stood, hurt, mind racing with the implications. It was his decision as interim leader of their clan, wasn't it? To allow Splinter to come might mean his father's violent end. And the fault would be placed solely at his feet. His brothers, they would blame him. Leo would never forgive him.

Then again, no matter what he did or did not choose, the blame would come back to him as it always seemed to do since he was placed in this intolerable position. For everything that he couldn't seem to get right, no matter how hard he tried, how careful and exacting he was before making any and every decision.

_Dammit._

Not for the first time, Donatello commiserated with his older brother's charge, feeling nothing but empathy for the burden he'd carried all this time. One that would be assigned to him once again upon his arrival home. One that Donatello would - shamefully perhaps - relish giving back to him.

He looked at Splinter, waiting on his answer, tail flicking impatiently. Splinter wasn't wrong, without Leo or Mikey, they were but two facing a skilled and deadly enemy. They would need all the help they could get.

Before he could give his consent, Splinter took the burden from him. "If you truly care for her, if you love her as you so adamantly _claim_," Splinter grunted, "you will cease wasting time, Donatello."

Jaw clenched, he gave a sharp nod. Turning, he sprinted down the passageway, feet splashing in the chilled rainwater runoff, and behind him, Splinter, racing on his heels.

# # #

They slid in, one after the other, making no sound. Shadows played along the stairwell, crawling after the swiftly creeping feet of the family of ninja.

Every step he climbed seemed to distort and pull the second-story entrance farther and farther from him. Imagery, gruesome and doleful, flashed incessantly in the corner of his mind, though his concentration was fully forward, he could not help but fear what they'd find behind that door.

He crept upwards. Senses tuned, watching, listening, scenting for any evidence of violence. Besides the broken lock on the front door, there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary in the shop. All lay quiet and undisturbed. He reached for the knob to find the door of her second-story apartment unlatched, swinging open with the softest of squeals.

Time slowed. Movement stretched. Noises seemed to mute. There was only the sound of his breath hollow and gasping through his tightened windpipe, the distant thudding of his racing heart.

He and his father and brother clambered into the space, spreading out slightly with instinct built from years of training. Poised and ready to spring into action. Eyes scanning the area, taking in every detail. Through the neatly furnished living-room and down the dimly lit hallway, his vision zeroed in on the man who dealt only in pain, dread and deceit. Even at this distance there was the oppressive sense of being dominated. The man's very presence exuded the gravity of power. Of mercilessness.

Donatello's breath caught. He heard his brother gasp, curse. Despite having known what they would find at the apartment, seeing it was a different experience all together. The picture was a tableau in the absurd. Surreal and horrifying. A painting crafted by a madman with a sense of twisted humor. See there: a brutal, heartless killer situated in the domestic.

His gaze shifted. His heart stumbled. Mind hazed.

Next to The Shredder, standing pale and looking lost, but seemingly unhurt, was April.

_What was she doing there? Next to him like that? So close._

His eyes dropped to see The Shredder's hand on hers. His vision went red.

A snarl erupted from him as he lunged forward, bo suddenly gripped tight in his fist. Coherent thought, any and all logic, fled. Pupils pin-pricked, teeth clenched, he saw only the man's gauntleted hand covering hers, touching her, claws gleaming in silent menace, keeping her there against her will.

Twin, thick-set arms held him back. A rough voice grunted into his ear, "No, bro. Don't."

His toes dug into the carpet. He bucked, throwing his head back.

"Don't be stupid!" Raph hissed. "He's too close. Wouldn't get to her in time."

The words sunk in; his rage abated somewhat. Raph was right, but he didn't have to like it. He jerked and yanked until he was free from Raph's grasp. "Let me go," he snapped.

Casey Jones sat at the table, face turned so that he could not make out the man's expression. Looking all the while as though they were sitting there having afternoon tea; except, had he looked closer, he'd have seen both Casey's hands were balled into white-knuckled fists on the surface of the table, body taunt with coiled rage. He jumped at the sound of their struggle.

"Guys?" April called tentatively.

Casey turned his head to face them. It was ruddy and mottled with suppressed rage, but his expression was a mix of relief and impatience. "Took you guys long enough."

"April, you okay?"

"Come into this room," the cool voice commanded before April could answer.

Splinter came around them, inching cautiously forward. He held out an arm, indicating they should remain behind him. He made his way into the kitchen, flanked by his sons.

Donatello's eyes locked on April. She seemed shaken, but otherwise unhurt. She gave him a weak, fleeting smile.

_She's okay_, he thought and repositioned his grip on his staff, palms damp.

Tension roiled in the silence as they approached. The only sound, Splinter's toe nails and cane tapping lightly across the linoleum floor.

Upon seeing him, Saki started slightly. He rose from his chair. "So," he said, eyes flashing with grim humor, voice full of derision, "the rat, at long last, emerges from his hole."

Splinter stopped. His hands worked at the top of his cane.

Shredder gazed around coolly. "You seem to be missing a few," he spat the last word, "freaks."

Raphael's growl reverberated through the crowded room. He wobbled slightly on his feet, the effects of the near-overdose still making him unsteady.

Shredder seemed unimpressed. "And where, I wonder, can the leader be? The one in blue. Where is Leonardo?"

_"Don't you say his name,"_ Raphael snarled, words slurring only making him sound more feral, "You hear me!? You don't _ever_ get to say his name!"

He lumbered forward only to be caught and shoved back by Splinter's elbow. The impact made him grunt in pain, one hand cupping his injured side. He stumbled back a step. Donatello placed a hand on his arm, steadying him.

"Be calm. Everyone." Splinter kept his gaze steadily fixed on his enemy as he addressed the others, voice strong, commanding, but low, unhurried, "April, Mr. Jones, go. My sons will escort you to safety."

"Safety," Shredder repeated with a questioning lilt. April made to move, but Shredder caught her wrist and she went still. Rigid with fright. "We've been having a most civil conversation until your arrival. One I wish to continue." April jerked, but Shredder held her fast.

Casey's fists shook. "I swear to god, I will –"

Donatello lunged forward past Raph. He pressed against his father's back, trembling with fury and fear. Behind him, he felt his brother's body tense.

Splinter said, "Release her. Now."

The Shredder stared at him, face impassive. No one moved. From the other room, the ticking of a wall clock counted the seconds.

In a blink, the man was on his feet. His gauntlet spikes at April's throat, head tipped back by his opposite fist in her hair.

"No!" Donatello shouted.

Raphael snarled and Casey slammed his fists into the table. Everyone in the room jumped to action, only to freeze in impotence, cursing and gasping, as the tips of the twin blades bit into April's soft flesh.

"Do not bark orders at me, filth."

Splinter held his sons back with both arms, shaking with the effort. "Wait!" Casey jumped to his feet, knocking the chair back. "No!" Splinter's tail had wrapped around the young man's middle, keeping him from doing something rash, something stupid.

"Get your stinkin' hands offa her! Ya hear me!?" he hollered, struggling to loosen Splinter's tail.

"No! Saki, she is nothing to you!" Splinter called, eyes wide, lips peeled back to expose his fangs. "Let her go! There is no honor in killing an innocent. No honor in this, in any of this!"

The Shredder stared at them each in turn. Slowly, his glittering eyes fell on Splinter. He snorted in disgust. "You train your _sons_," he sneered, "as assassins, sending them time and again into a war they have nothing to do with while you cower like a coward in your rat's nest."

He eased back, removing the blade from her neck. "Your concept of honor baffles me."

April fell forward with a gasp and Donatello was there, dashing around them all to collect her and pull her away. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he gently moved her behind him, quickly assessing that no harm had been done to her that he could see, and placing his body between her and Shredder.

"Donnie!"

"It's all right. I got you," Donatello murmured, holding his bo out defensively, but keeping one arm snug around her waist. "He won't come near you again. I swear to you."

The Shredder eyed the bo staff, the furious mutant in purple, considering him. Considering what he said to April, their stance: her arms around him, him holding her tight; the fear that seemed sharper than the rest, honed as a blade.

With a ghost of a smirk, he said, "If I wanted her dead, you would have arrived to find her and her vigilante friend here gutted."

Raphael stepped forward. He growled but was drowned out by Donatello's voice, uncharacteristically rough, _"I'll kill him!"_

Saki opened his arms wide. Smile spreading only to drop away, a cold, alien expression in his eyes. He dropped back into the chair, leaning causally back.

"Calm yourself, Donatello!" Splinter stood shaking with fury, whiskers trembling, tail flicking nervously. "He will answer for what he's done. The suffering he's caused our –"

Saki brushed his fingers through the air, dismissively. "Enough."

Splinter's ears flattened. "Indeed." On cue, they began to fall back, all eyes locked on the man. Casey and Raphael remained, limbs coiled, barely restraining themselves. "Take April and go," he murmured without taking his gaze from Shredder.

"No one leaves here until I get what I've come for."

Raphael sneered, "That so?" He twirled one sai in a somewhat clumsy arc, "Watch us."

"Raphael, do not –" Splinter stopped, a strained look coming over his face. His mouth gaped and he made a strangled, grinding sound as his eyes pinched closed. A tremor ran through Splinter and he started to cough. The sound morphed into rough choking, rattling, until he was doubled over. Curling forward, dropping his staff.

Casey twisted to catch the rat in his arms before he hit the floor. "Master Splinter?"

Raph was there, opposite, an arm hovering over Splinter's bowed back. "Splinter? D-Dad?"

The Shredder slowly sat forward. He laced his fingers loosely together, settling his forearms on the surface of the table, watching them.

Splinter's body quaked; his tail quivering, limbs jumping with spasms. Raph, cradling his father's head in one arm, turned to shoot a helpless, frightened look up at Donatello who could only stand back and watch their father crumble before their enemy. Taken not by any external enemy, but by an aged, failing body.

"Donnie," Raph pleaded from between gritted teeth, eyes wild with fright, "do somethin'."

Splinter hacked and groaned, gasping. His feet kicked out behind him in spasmodic bursts.

Donatello stood motionless. Helpless. There was nothing he could do. This would pass on its own or not. Just as he sat by his father's cot night after long night, unable to do more than watch over him until the fit passed. Witnessing the aged master's decline and suffering. Agonized with his inability to make this right. To fix the problem. To save their master, their father.

He felt April's hands braced on him. "Donnie?"

Dropping his bo to one side, he pulled away and yanked open the bag at his hip. Rummaging around, he retrieved a bottle of water. He wedged himself between Raphael and Splinter, forcing his free hand under Splinter's chin to raise it, trying to get the water into his father's mouth.

At first, Splinter fought him, shaking his head and struggling. But slowly, the fit subsided as he lapped at the water dribbling into his mouth, down his chin. Wheezing and sputtering. Still kicking his legs intermittently as his body twinged and twitched.

"Easy," he murmured. "There. Easy. Sip."

His father's heart thrummed wildly against his arm. He could feel the jumbled rhythm through the thin muscle and fragile bones of his ribs. He hadn't brought any of the pills for Splinter's heart. Hadn't thought of it when hurrying to find if April had been butchered or not. He could not help but feel guilt.

Surely, Leonardo would have thought to bring it. Leonardo considered every contingency before acting. No matter the stakes. No matter the pressure. The fear.

The Shredder had not attacked Splinter, not yet. And still, it would be his fault should their father's damaged heart stop here, on this floor.

"Breathe slowly, Master Splinter. With me," he said. "With me." Keeping eye contact with his father's watering amber eyes, Donatello demonstrated a slow, deep inhale and a steady exhale. "Breathe."

Eventually, the worst of the fit passed, leaving him looking more ragged, aged and shrunken, than before. On the floor before him, a spattering of crimson globs slowly being diluted by the spilled water.

He lay, half supported in Raphael's arms, half in Casey's, fur damp with perspiration. Gasping, gulping and shuddering, he blinked in a daze up at them all, as if just awakening from a night terror.

In a soft voice, one more tender than anyone could imagine considering the source, bringing reality crashing back down upon them all, The Shredder said, "Touching."

Donatello glared at him from over one shoulder with dark eyes molten with hatred. He reached out and picked up his father's cane. Gripping it in front of his chest as one might hold a token to ward off evil, he turned to face the man at the table.

As he rose to his feet, he said, "Raph, Casey. Take Splinter out of here. April. Go with them."

"No way," Raphael barked.

Donatello struck the cane out sideways, an inch from his face. "Don't argue."

The Shredder eyed him. "The leader, at last, revealed."

Splinter wheezed, still catching his breath, trembling all over, unable to hide his vulnerability from any of them. He groped at Raphael's arms as he heaved him up, balanced between himself and Casey. Behind, April lingered, making way for them to leave, never taking her eyes off of Donatello. He handed his father's cane to Casey who took it, eyes bouncing between the back of Donnie's head and the Shredder who slowly rose to stand.

"That's right. I'm the leader," Donnie said. "You deal with me. Only me. Not my brother or his friend, not my father and not my –" he stumbled, catching himself.

"Your, what?" Shredder supplied, "Lover?"

"April," Donatello snapped over him.

His face twisted. "I'm uninterested in your fetishes. In your revolting private lives. I'm only interested in what I've come here for."

Donatello spat, "What, what could you possibly want from us, now?"

"Information," he replied, the tone of his voice finally revealing real frustration. "Information, I know you have."

Donatello frowned, mind racing. Thinking back to something he'd forgotten. No, not forgotten. Something he'd buried into the recesses of his mind, due to the sheer impossibility of it. The ridiculousness. The implications too big for even his mind to wrap around. He remembered someone else coming to him in desperation for information. Less than nine months ago, to be precise.

While his mind insisted on two trains of thought at once: _it can't be over her – it's her, it's always about her, _The Shredder announced, "I want the exact location of your brother. Leonardo."

The occupants of the room stiffened. Even Splinter, still dazed, blinked at the demand, raising his head.

The Shredder produced what looked to be a cell phone. He flung it across the table. It hit with a loud smack and then spun, around and around in a drowsy circle.

"I know he was sent to Central America. I want his _exact_ location." He glared at Splinter and then turned his attention back to Donatello.

"We won't tell you anything," he said without hesitation and as The Shredder's face darkened, he added, "there's no way, no way in hell, we'd give Leonardo to you."

"You will tell me. I won't waste my time or my breath on idle threats. There will be pain." His eyes flicked over Donatello's shoulder, over each of his family members to rest on April. His eyes grew flat, soulless as a shark's. "There will be death."

Donatello's throat worked as his mouth went dry. The muscles in his legs grew taut, his shoulders tightened. There was no way he'd let this beast get past him to hurt any of his family.

He would die before Shredder touched April again.

"It's not the _freak_ I'm after." The Shredder balled his fist and slammed it onto the table. "I want my daughter!"

* * *

**A/N:** Yes. I'm back at this story. Your patience and support have kept me believing. Thank you for that.

Now.

Hang on.

It's going to be a bumpy ride.


	16. Compromise

"In my last defense

you tried to warn me.

I did not know you

you were a demon to me.

Your presence, it was a fear

that lived inside me.

It grew around me

then you would appear." –Out of the Darkness, Matthew and the Atlas

**Chapter 16 – Compromise **

Donatello kept his gaze steady and did not flinch at the outburst from the homicidal man before him. Did not move. Held his breath. Expecting more. Expecting to fight for his family's life, perhaps at the expense of his own.

All the while, his mind turned and worked at what was happening here. The reasons which brought this unlikely scenario together.

Karai was missing. Not in hiding, for where in the world could one go where this devil could not find? And yet, that was the very reason he was here threatening the love of his life and the rest of his family. He needed Leonardo's location because he knew, like the rest of them, that there was only one place the girl would be. With Leonardo.

Shredder did not need them to confirm or deny this fact. She was, after all, his daughter.

Could this be paternal concern for his child? Donatello nearly snorted, unable to fathom a man such as his might have familial bonds involving anything resembling love or concern.

And yet. Here they were.

The Shredder threatening them for Leo's location. This wasn't a man seeking revenge. Or was it? Doubt nagged him. There was something more at work here, something baffling, but Donatello had learned even the most preposterous situations were worth consideration. Take Karai's condition the last time he saw her.

_Pregnant. _

_Impossible._

_As implausible as my own existence, perhaps? _

With that thought he blinked. Forcing himself to focus.

"Do not mistake me." The Shredder stared at them as the wild storm raging behind his eyes passed and something more calm took its place. Leaving the flat slate of his watching eyes, the depthless pools, alien and so familiar. He seemed to be collecting himself. Tapping the tips of his gauntlet lightly against the surface of the table. "Leonardo's whereabouts will lead me to Karai." His voice dropped lower, and Donatello found himself leaning in ever so slightly, head tilted in skepticism as well as fascination.

"My daughter. That is all I want. Nothing more."

If it were any other person there, the request would have seemed reasonable.

"Take April and Splinter out of here," Donatello repeated to his brother and Casey. His voice murmuring but level, betraying not the rapid staccato of his heart or the icy fear at the edge of his reason at the idea of being alone with this person, this monster, who so effortlessly disregarded their lives. Who had tortured his brother to near-death and sentenced him to a brutal execution for the naïve error of loving his daughter. The daughter he now wanted to locate. The woman who was carrying his brother's ill-fated unborn child.

_Not likely._

_It's true. All of it. _

"I'll handle this."

"Donnie," April said as she reached a hand out to him. "What are you –"

He turned his eyes away from her, not wanting to chance that she spots the doubt. The very real fear.

"Please," he said to the floor, "just _listen_ to me."

"What are you sayin'?" Raph now, still slurring, wobbly, throwing a worried look at Casey who stood by supporting most of Splinter's weight in his arms. "Ya can't be serious. Ya can't think we're gonna walk outta here without you with us. 'n leave you. With _him_."

Shredder's voice slithered over them. "Stay or go. I will get from one of you the information I require."

Donatello twisted and shouted, "Get home! Now!"

Raphael, April and Casey flinched back.

Firmly, "Splinter needs his meds." At that he remembered the disastrous results of Raphael and his medicine cabinet. He turned his attention to April, softening his tone, but only a little. "Find Mikey. He knows which ones."

April closed her mouth and gave him a firm nod. Her shaking fingers curled into fists.

He witnessed her pull herself together, steeling herself for him, digging into that courageous core of hers, and he loved her more in that moment than ever.

"Okay. Be home soon."

The foursome began to back slowly from the room.

Donatello closed his eyes, took a breath and nodded. When he faced the Shredder again, the man was easing back into his seat with a sigh.

"Even when confronted by reasonable requests," he said with something like a hint of humor in his eye, "you and your clan are determined to irk me."

"Let's not play games," Donatello started. "I could pretend that I don't know where Karai might be. That I don't think Karai is anywhere near Leo. I could act as though that entire . . . situation . . . has been long over with. I could stand here and lie to you about everything. But."

Donatello reached over and pulled the chair Casey had been sitting on out and he took a seat, glancing over one shoulder as the sound of April's back door closing told him he was, at last, alone.

"That would be a waste of time. Something neither of us can afford."

The Shredder glared at him silently, eyes hard flints.

"And you have intel. Obviously. But not enough."

"No," the Shredder snapped just at the end of his sentence. "What I have is a liability."

Donatello blinked at the callousness, thrown off momentarily at this admission.

The Shredder went on, "An entire organization dedicated to decimating the Foot Clan. One that will stop at nothing to destroy everything I have sacrificed to build."

"You're worried about the clan? I thought you wanted your daughter back."

The Shredder leaned forward, hands in fists under the gleaming gauntlets. His voice grew low and flecked with warning. "What I have is a dead . . . friend. One who was keeping my daughter, unwittingly within reach."

The pieces started to come together for Donatello. Karai was missing, but someone had been watching her for the Shredder, no doubt, reporting her every move. Then why . . .?

_Dead friend. Oh. Leo. Oh no._

"I warned her. Many times," The Shredder said, sounding more as though he were speaking to himself rather than Donatello. "Her stubborn obsession with that freak would lead only to her end."

He fidgeted, fists tightening, untightening, chin dipping to his chest. A hiss of a breath escaped between his clenched teeth.

He looked up at Donatello. Their eyes met and there Donatello saw a hatred which knew no bounds, no limits. A vast sea of black rancor. Something innocent within the young mutant withered beneath the searing heat of that glacier of loathing.

"Your _family_," the word, a growled curse, "has been nothing but poison to the Oroku name."

His voice trembled with fury and the air around them grew taunt and warbling with tension. "Would I the power, I would cut you like a cancer from our midst."

As he said this he somehow moved from his chair, slithering unnoticed into the space separating them. Donatello jumped as the fingers closed around his throat, shattered from the mesmerism like a songbird startled to the snake coiling around its tiny form. He leaped back and away with a shout of terror, chair crashing back, bo swinging around in a wide arc of defense, knocking mugs, utensils and the vase with drooping daises to the floor – but never coming close to his target, who had managed to dodge without seeming to move at all. The cacophony of Donatello's actions faded back, leaving a buzzing silence.

"Stay back!" Donatello yelled, voice cracking, chest rapidly rising and falling.

The Shredder put up his hands in surrender. A smile slowly broke out over the face, transforming it into something chagrinned, a boy caught at doing something wrong, the mussed hair and sparkle in the madman's eyes replicating something like boyish charm.

Donatello tasted metal and realized he'd bitten his tongue. He swallowed dryly.

"A momentary lapse. Not to be repeated. I assure you." When he spoke, the words were silk around the venomous fangs. "Let's refocus." He dropped his hands to his sides, the impish grin melted away, but not entirely.

Donatello found himself sliding back a step, shaking unperceptively in his knees and elbows. He would not allow himself to be lulled like that again, however it had happened. Which, he wasn't exactly sure. He swallowed again, eyes roaming the room, searching for balance, seeking sanity in the bright yellow walls but falling on the shattered mess he'd made on the linoleum. His head spun.

"Doctor Tsuneo was my friend," The Shredder said, and brought one hand to his chest, covering his heart.

Donatello started, head snapping up, but remained in his defensive stance, unwilling to relent even a second against this dangerous and unpredictable man.

"He was keeping track of my daughter. Staying close. Then, something happened. He was murdered." The smile was completely gone now. Eyes hollow. Face greying. "He was," he struggled, "like a father to me."

The Shredder's face twisted and for an instant, Donatello registered raw, real pain. The first real emotion the mutant had ever seen come from this man other than hate. He felt his arms lower a bit. His shoulders relax.

"But more importantly, the message he was able to impart in his death was that Karai is in trouble. You see, where Tsuneo was, Karai should have been. But my men cannot find any trace of her. Only his mangled body in the middle of a jungle. There is no doubt. Venom is involved."

"I must find the men responsible. I must find my daughter."

Donatello's face dropped into a frown. Ice water flowed through his veins. It was as he suspected. If Tsuneo was close to Karai and he was murdered, then there was a very good chance that it wasn't only Karai who was in trouble. Terrible trouble.

If Venom had Karai . . . then they had Leo. There was no doubt in his mind. Leo.

Feeling sick, Donatello lowered his staff. "We haven't heard anything from Leo in weeks."

"You must know where he is. Some idea."

Donatello considered, standing with wobbling legs. He had to keep calm. He had to think this through. How were they going to find Leo? They'd need to get to Central America.

An idea took shape. A desperate one. But it was the only one he had. God, but if he was wrong. If he was wrong . . .

The decision was his. The responsibility on his shoulders. There was no way they could trust this maniac. It would be up to him to protect them all. He gripped his bo tightly. He nodded to himself.

_Okay. _

His eyes snapped up.

"I won't give you info on my brother."

The Shredder's face darkened.

"But," he held up one hand. "We can work together to find Karai. Rescue her. And my brother."

The Shredder said nothing. Waiting.

He swallowed. "If what you've told me is accurate, then Venom probably has them both. We're going to need transport. Fast. You have resources."

"I could take from you what I need." The statement was issued softly, a raven calling in the distance, the threat real as daybreak.

Instead of fear, Donatello felt something harden in him. Something irrevocable. Something true about his nature that was reflected, he knew, in each of his family members.

"Waste of time. There's nothing you could do to me to make me talk. Nothing."

The Shredder considered, gazes locked, measuring the mutant before him. Perhaps considering whether or not he wanted to test the boy's courageous declaration.

"One day, I may test that theory." Something relaxed in the air between them. "But Karai does not have time. What do you need?"

Stomach clenching, he took a breath. "First, we'll need to keep this stealthy."

"I'm no fool. The Foot has been compromised. It has been for some time, even before the incident with that freak," his eyes narrowed and Donatello had the courage not to look away. He held the man's piercing gaze. "No. I will not risk Karai's life for a traitor's opportunity."

Donatello felt light-headed with what was happening here. Second-guessing himself, he closed his eyes. Reeling.

Did he really have the authority to make this decision? Wasn't he the interim leader? Besides, what choice did he have? He was dealing with a lunatic. His brother's life, even his family's lives were in danger if he didn't work something out. The Shredder would never accept no for an answer.

There was only one choice. Find Leo. Rescue him and Karai before it was too late. If it wasn't already.

Feeling as if he were sleep-walking inside a surreal dream made something of nightmares and worst fears, he said, "S-So. W-We'll need a truce."

"Done."

The Shredder strode forward and offered his hand, making Donnie flinch before he extended his own, trembling, three-fingered hand in response. The man's grip was powerful, but Donatello gave as good as he got, earning him an approving look that only made him want to wash his hand with bleach when he got home.

He glanced down at his hand, clutching the Shredder's. He looked up to see the enemy of their clan, the man who'd threatened to kill them all, tortured his brother, and was without a doubt, insane, inches from him, staring at him with an unfathomable expression.

The moment stretched into an awkwardness that bordered on panic, until without a word, the Shredder dropped his hand and stepped back to retrieve his helmet. He placed it on his head and moved silently around Donatello, a phantom playing at being a man, calling out a meeting time and place over his shoulder as he exited.

Donatello felt himself rock gently to one side, the corners of his vision growing dark with surprising speed. He forced himself to breathe deeply, slowly. To push down the nauseous feeling rising in his core.

He stared down at his hand, still extended, throbbing slightly from the abuse it had just taken.

_What have I done?_


End file.
